


Working the Pathways

by purple_cellophane



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drarry, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Hogwarts, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cellophane/pseuds/purple_cellophane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is wrong with Harry Potter. As an Auror, he relies on being able to effectively cast spells, but for some reason, he can't seem to. Hermione sends Harry to St. Mungo's, grievously worried, even though Harry continues to insist it is nothing. But what happens when Harry has to spend months in the care of St. Mungo's most prestigious healer; Draco Malfoy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Concern

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys I've been thinking about writing this one for a while now, and please don't hesitate to tell me what you think - it will totally determine whether and what I write.

Harry felt it again.

That same hit flat in his chest as he tried to cast a simple _stupefy_  spell, crippling him as if he had been seriously winded. He groaned in frustration as the leaf fluttered down from the tree, almost smirking at him as it did so.

 _Fuck this_ , Harry thought. Hermione should be out of her meeting any time now, to save Harry from his glaring contest with the tree in question. He checked his watch and sighed. He had been suspended from his Auror duties in order to ‘ _get better, Mr. Potter’_ as if Harry knew what the hell was going on.

“Harry!” Hermione called, catching Harry’s attention as she pushed the Ministry’s door open, nose and ears tinted pink from the biting winter. She pushed her gloved hands deeper into her pockets and pressed her shoulders closer together. The doors shut with a resounding clang behind her.

“What took you so long?” Harry replied.

Hermione gave him a look. “I’m all of one minute late.” She took the coffee mug Harry handed to her without question. “Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“Shall we go?” Hermione took his arm with the one not occupied by her coffee ( _one sugar and milk, Harry, you always forget_ ) and they apparated into Grimmauld Place together.

 

-

 

“How’s the Renford case going?” Hermione asked, shrugging her coat off to hang it on the back of Harry's couch. “Is he still trying to penetrate the Ministry’s forces?”

Harry took a seat down next to Hermione, reaching down to un-do his shoes. “Don’t know. I’d assume so, though. No one keeps me updated about it.” He said, rather bitterly.

Hermione gave him a pointed look as if to say, _well, you know why_ and took another sip from her coffee, spelling her shoes off and tucking her feet underneath her. When Harry reached for his wand to light the fire, his shoulders sagged in memory of his inability to cast a spell without feeling some sort of physical repercussion.

“Want me to light it?” Hermione asked gently.

Harry scowled and nodded.

She flicked her wand at the fireplace and flames burst upwards into the chimney. “You really need to get that checked out.”

Harry’s scowl deepened. “I am not a child, I’m sure I can figure it out for myself. There have probably been plenty of cases like this.”

“I checked.” Hermione said. “There’s been no case like it before. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with reaching out for a little bit of help.”

“You checked?” Harry said incredulously. “Of course you bloody checked.” He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, sliding it in to his untameable hair to push it back off his face.

Hermione made that worried motherly look that women seemed to be so good at making. “You haven’t been yourself because of it, Harry, I know that.”

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. Not that he didn’t appreciate Hermione caring about him; really he was very grateful, but honestly. Harry was a grown man and could look after himself.

“So… I’ve booked you in for St. Mungo’s for a few months.”

Harry’s whole body went rigid. “What?” He turned to his friend to see her very pointedly interested in the hem of her dress, “ _you what?!_ ”

“Now, Harry, don’t get feisty.” She said, raising her hands in defence (not like Harry could do anything anyway, seeing as all his magical ability had been taken away anyway). “I don’t know who it is, but I’ve got you the most qualified healer in St. Mungo’s.”

Harry could strangle her. “I don’t need help, ‘Mione!”

“Oh god, Harry,” she sighed. “What is it with men? You need help; this has been going on for weeks now and it’s affecting your career and your happiness.”

“You can’t even _accio_  without wincing. You’re trying to stop a power hungry, crazy psychopath from breaking into the Ministry to steal information, and you need to be able to use your wand without looking like you could bend over and hurl your guts up at any minute!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice becoming louder and louder and more indignant. “What happens when Renford breaks in successfully, how are you going to feel then, knowing you didn’t help because you refused to accept rational aid?”

Silence hung heavy over both of them and Harry let himself fall back into the couch. He took his glasses off, rubbed at his eyes and groaned. Opening one eye, Hermione was still sitting there with that concerned-mother hen look on her face. He shut them again, not wanting her to see his resignation. “I suppose I should be thanking you really.”

“You should be. But hey, you’re Harry Potter; I understand your tendency for thoughtless reaction.”

Harry threw her a sharp look, straddling the line between being offended and recognising the truth in her words. 

Hermione twisted her face up at him and made a face.

There was another silence, before they both erupted into laughter.

“I hate you.” Harry laughed.

“I hate you, too.” Hermione said, eyes warming with something that definitely wasn’t hate.

“Go home, you five year old. Ron’s probably wondering where you are.”

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, sliding her shoes back on. “I’ll be back here at 8 in the morning, so be ready.”

“Okay.”

Hermione slid her coat back on and closed her eyes to apparate.

“’Mione?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She cracked one eye open at him and smirked. “Someone’s got to take care of our Saviour.”


	2. St. Mungo's

Hermione arrived at eight o'clock just like she had promised.

The door bell rang and Harry flattened his hair for the last time (well that's what he told himself anyway) today. He pulled the door open to see Hermione and Ron, holding hands comfortable, wind picking up pieces of their hair and turning it around in the breeze.

"Why on earth do you have a suitcase, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Reading." There were more things in there, incriminating things like honey scented shampoo and lavender soap, things that Hermione and Ron did not need to know about.

"Oh, what books?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Did you see the one about the effect of _Celestina Warbeck's_ music on the brain? Oh, it was frightfully funny - oh, and the new one by James Moreau about the little boy who befriends a Hippogriff - Rose loves that one - also the - mmph!"

Ron had clamped a hand down on his wife's mouth. "'Mione, I love you. But shut the hell up."

She sent a glare down Ron's way, and removed his hand from her face. "Fine. Just because you don't appreciate the fine art of literature."

Ron and Harry shared a look as Hermione worked her way past in to Harry's house. 

"I missed you." Harry said, reaching out to envelop Ron in a hug.

"I missed you too, Harry."

"I wanted to take this suspension to see you two more often, but I'm afraid St. Mungo's restrictions don't allow visitors or apparition."

Ron gave an understanding look, one much akin to Hermione's. "'Course. We'll be rooting for you."

Hermione appeared in the doorway again and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Left my beanie here last night." She explained.

 

 

-

 

 

Harry, Ron and Hermione apparated to Purge and Dowse in front of the red brick wall.

"We're not allowed to go with you." Hermione said, her voice quite subdued. "But we want you to know that we think what you're doing is very brave and we love you very much... and you'll get better in no time."

Ron put a reassuring arm around his wife. "He'll be fine. He's Harry Potter: that's what he does."

Harry smiled warmly at his two friends, overcome with a sudden and powerful rush of love and appreciation for his two friends. "Just you wait, Hermione. When I'm out of here, we'll duel and I'll win so magnificently and you'll regret you admitted me in the first place."

She snifffed and nodded. "Okay. Good bye, Harry."

"Bye." Said Harry softly, and with one last hug, left for St. Mungo's.

 

-

 

St. Mungo's was just as huge as Harry remembered it. There was noise coming from somewhere, everywhere, really, and it irked Harry that he couldn't place it. Hermione had left him a map-like sheet which detailed the responsibilities of each floor. Harry pulled it out of his pocket, regretting not having done this earlier (a feeling not unknown to him), and scanned over the text.

 

  * ARTIFACT ACCIDENTS...................... Ground Floor



(Cauldron explosion, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc.)

  * CREATURE-INDUCED INJURIES............... First Floor



(Bites, stings, burns, embedded spines, etc.)

  * MAGICAL BUGS............................. Second Floor



(Contagious maladies, e.g. dragon pox, vanishing sickness, scrofungulus)

  * POTION AND PLANT POISONING.............. Third Floor



(Rashes, regurgitation, uncontrollable giggling, etc.)

  * SPELL DAMAGE............................ Fourth Floor



(Unliftable jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly applied charms, etc.)

  * VISITOR'S TEAROOM AND HOSPITAL SHOP..... Fifth Floor



If you are unsure where to go, incapable of normal speech, or unable to  
remember why you are here, our Welcome Witch will be pleased to help.

 

Harry's eyebrows knitted together in confusion at all the possibilities of admission. Was it a backfiring wand issue he had, an issue taken care of on the ground floor? Or perhaps he had some spell damage of sorts, and should head for level four. Sighing, Harry ascended the stairs which lead to level four - it was a guess as good as any.

There were very many strange people coming both down and up the stairs. One man had ears growing out of his knees and would flinch whenever a loud noise would be made. Another man's hair kept casting itself on fire. There were a lot of little children running about and the Healers dressed in their lime green robes rushed hurriedly after them. Harry stared curiously, hand trailing along the hand rail without any particular sense of commitment. 

"Harry Potter." 

He brought his suitcase up onto the step with him, resting his arms on the pull out handle. The man who spoke his name had narrow eyes and dark hair which his face in strands of greasy hair. Harry immediately likened his first impression of this man with his first impression of Snape. "Yes?"

"I hear you're staying here for a while." 

"Yes, Healer." Harry lifted his chin. "That is correct."

"We only allow residential admission for the most _special_ of cases." He sneered. "I would assume you would be used to this kind of treatment, however."

Harry bit back a cutting reply. "Yes, well, I'm sure others are not quite as lucky as I."

"Others may speculate on your stay here, Mr. Potter, do be careful." He continued. "I do know how... thorough... Rita Skeeter can be."

"Is that a threat, Healer?" Harry bared his teeth, angered.

"Mr. Potter?" A sweet voice comes floating down from a couple of flights up.

Harry had a feeling that he knew that unmistakable voice and his attention scrambled to find the source.

"Harry! It is you!" Luna Lovegood stood in her green robes at the top of the staircase.

"Luna!" Harry exclaimed in delight. "I had no idea you became a Healer."

"Oh, I'm still studying really, I'm not fully employed here yet." She smiled, hoisting her skirts out of the way of her feet in two pale, clenched hands and flying down the stairs into Harry's arms. Luna's smile always had a way of transferring onto Harry, and Harry found himself grinning as he hugged her tight.

"I got an owl from Neville this morning saying you were coming today," Luna carried on, pulling away, "Hermoine told Ron and Ron told Ginny and Ginny told Neville and Neville told me that you'd be here this morning, and here you are!"

"How is Neville?" Harry hadn't seen Neville Longbottom since the end of the war, in fact he hadn't seen anybody besides Ron and Hermoine since the end of the war.

"Good, Neville's good. He's supposed to visit the ward tomorrow to say hi, if you wanted to come with me."

"Definitely."

Luna smiled again and took Harry's suitcase, and they made their way up the last two flights of stairs.

 

-

 

"State your name and function here at St. Mungo's."

"Harry Potter, patient for inoperative spells."  _I guess._

"How old are you, Mr. Potter?"

"27, miss."

"Date of birth?"

"July 31st." Harry was sure she probably knew all this, considering the amount of scrutiny he was given by the media.

"Weight and height?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

The Healer sighed and cast a quick spell before jotting down some answers. Harry didn't even know there was a spell for that.

"Your room is five down the second left corridor. Thank you, Mr. Potter." 

Harry muttered a quite thank you and pulled his suitcase full of 'books' after him. The room was generously sized, and Harry was suddenly struck with an urge to know what the hell he was to do over the next few months. It's not like he was terminally ill, he just couldn't seem to cast spells without feeling like there were knives growing on the inside of his body trying to come out. Maybe he should of brought more books. One bed, with thick white duvet and a soft grey blanket folded in half at the end of the bed. A painting of the St. Mungo's crest lay above the headboard of the bed, and the windows were large and let in a lot of light. 

Harry placed his suitcase on his bed and transferred the big orange bag containing his embarrassing smelling soaps within it to the small bathroom attached to his room. He put the two books he brought on the bedside table, along with his wand.

His Healer did not arrive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Please please don't hesitate to contact me about this, I am very unsure about what you guys want as this is the first fanfiction I have written. I assume it's the same as writing stories in any other way, but I don't know. Please tell me what you think and how I can improve!


	3. Harry's Healer

Harry woke to sunlight warming his skin and quiet chatter behind him.

“I’m just saying; if he really wanted to see me, he would have already come out to see us already.”

“Don’t be daft, Neville,” that was Luna, “he told me yesterday he really wanted to see you.”

Harry turned over, grabbing at his glasses and shielding his eyes from the sun. It was supposed to be winter, Harry thought grumpily, not enjoying the heat pouring like molten gold onto his face at all.

“Good afternoon, Harry.” Luna said. “You seem to have slept well today. I’ve heard they charm these rooms to make the patients stay more pleasant. They attune themselves the patient’s individual needs and I think that’s very nice.”

It was the first decent sleep Harry had had in years, actually; no nightmares, no interruptions, just silent and heavy sleep. Harry did not care if it was not naturally induced, it was one of the few rests Harry had had which he could comfortably sink into. He picked himself out of bed and stared up at Neville, whose face had elongated, blonde hair grown, and torso and legs stretched out to make him at lease a foot taller than Harry. “You grew.”

He laughed shyly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear and nodding. "About time too; I'd say."

“Harry," Luna butted in, "we must show you these chips they sell down in the kitchen, they’re made out of _carrot_ , Harry, _carrot_.”

 

-

 

Apparently word had got out that Harry Potter was staying at St. Mungo’s, if the stares and whispers shielded behind hands were anything to go off. Luna pulled Harry and Neville over to a small round table and a small house-elf appeared next to Luna.

“Miss, Tinky is very pleased to be seeing Mistress Luna with her friends. Is there anything Tinky can fetch for Luna?”

“Those vegetable chips would be lovely, thank you Tinky.” Luna smiled at Tinky as Tinky disappeared with a crack.

“So why are you here, Harry?” Neville asked him.

Harry scowled and wished he had a mug of coffee to hide behind, not knowing what to do with his hands. “For some reason, when I try to cast spells, all it does is hurt me. Of course, being an Auror, that’s problematic.”

“Who’s your Healer?” Luna asked.

“All Hermione told me was that she got me someone who was very good, but that’s all I know.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know when I’m supposed to see them.”

A moment later, Tinky appeared with a tray of brightly coloured chips and set it down on the table. “Is that being enough, Miss Luna?”

“Plenty,” Luna smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

Tinky bowed and disappeared again.

“Have you been given the times for your appointments and limitations of bounds?”

Harry frowned. “That’s a thing?”

“I can take you down to get one, if you want. You will probably already missed one or two sessions – oh, don’t eat those ones, Harry, they’re horrible.” Luna said, slapping a green chip (was it broccoli?) out of Harry’s hand.

Realisation dawned over Harry. Of course, he had to go somewhere else to be analysed, his Healer wasn’t just going to come to him. He felt stupid; what must his Healer think?

“Well, Neville here is going to be teaching Herbology at Hogwarts come the end of this year.”

Neville blushed a bright red. “Luna.” He warned, though Harry suspected that maybe he was secretly proud of that fact.

“Man, that’s great!” Harry congratulated. “I thought you were going to be an Auror too.”

“I always think, _if you’re not happy, you’re doing something wrong_ , and all I’ve wanted is to teach Herbology and be a good teacher.”

Yep, definitely proud. “What’s happening to Professor Sprout?”

“She and I have talked and she has wanted to step down since fifth year.” Neville said, humble excitement in his eyes. “She said she is more than happy for me to assume her role.”

“He’s going to be so great.” Luna said.

“What about you, Harry?” Neville asked. “What do you do as an Auror?”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to answer that one, even if I knew.” Harry answered. “I got suspended so I could get this spell problem sorted out.” As Harry bit into a beetroot chip, he couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed. Years he had gone with hardly any interaction between friends (Ron and Hermoine didn’t count; they were more family than friends, really) and he had almost forgotten how to hold a conversation. “I need a shower.” Harry said awkwardly. “And these are very nice, Luna, thank you.”

Luna tilted her head and looked at Harry. “What you  _need_  is a coffee.”

Harry laughed. “True, also.”

“Tinky?” Luna called.

 

-

 

“State your name.” The same cranky woman as yesterday demanded.

“Harry Potter.” Harry answered, refusing to let himself be nervous. For Merlin’s sake, he killed the Dark Lord, and yet a scowling middle-aged lady seemed to set his voice shakier than Voldemort himself.

“Yes, you forgot to ask for you appointment time, yesterday. Mr. Potter I expect your Healer won’t be too impressed.”

Harry took the sheet she was handing to him silently (and he swore she tried to flick the paper in attempt to give him a paper cut) and read:

Patient’s name: Harry Potter

Illness: Inoperative spells, level four

Status: Payed 3 month admission, any more or less will be credited by the check.

Healer: D. L. Malfoy

 

Harry didn’t even bother reading the rest.

Draco Malfoy was his Healer.

Harry didn’t even know Draco Malfoy was a Healer.

Hermione had enrolled Harry under Malfoy’s services.

Oh Merlin, this was not going to be a good three months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my chapters are really short, once I get into the swing of the story they'll probably lengthen up. (I hope.)


	4. Draco Malfoy

A claustrophobic nervousness gripped at Harry's chest as he rapped his knuckles against Malfoy's mahogany door. He could hear his own breathing, his heart hammering fast even though he adamantly told himself he was  _not nervous_. He wondered what Malfoy was like now, what it would be like having to be his patient, subjected to treatments Malfoy would try out on him. Malfoy was probably going to kill him. His knock received no reply, so he knocked again and waited, cursing himself for not at least trying tame his hair or put on clothes that suited him, or at the very least couldn’t be mistaken for pyjamas. When this knock was still unanswered, Harry wrapped his _completely steady_  fingers around the cold doorknob, swallowed, and pushed it open.

His nerves were not soothed when Malfoy flicked his eyes up at him then back to his desk where his thin, pale wrist was twitching against the paper that his quill scratched noisily across. No, instead they were set on fire like they were like matchsticks struck into life, burning with a hot presence, demanding to be known. "You're a day later, Potter."

Words abandoned him, and left his throat thick and dry, unsure of how to attempt to go about his planned excuse. Instead he stood in the doorway, hands sweaty and clenching open and closed and with nothing insightful or witty to say.

"Sit." He said, gesturing with his brown spotted quill towards a very Malfoy-esque chair. In fact, the whole room was Malfoy-esque. It was  _large,_ with a Victorian conservatory to the side of the room, where most of the light was coming from. The windows were Gothically styled and very gorgeous, each one intricately detailed with hundreds of different animals. A leather couch and Harry's said seat were placed next to a raw-cut stone fireplace, and an enormous wooden (mahogany; to match the door, probably) desk situated behind it at the back of the room. What stunned Harry most was the sheer  _lack_ of space on Malfoy's walls -each and every single inch of it had been taken up by bookshelves, all occupied with thick, ageing books.

Cautiously, Harry stepped further into the room and sank into his appointed chair, which was surprisingly more comfortable than it looked. Malfoy was looking through his heavy wooden cupboard (Harry had thought it a wardrobe initially) to find an extra file. He pulled back, returning with the quill and file in hand.

"Harry Potter." He finally said, once seated. 

"Malfoy." Harry returned, feeling awkward at best sitting in his enemy's (former enemy's? - Harry didn't know where they stood these days) office awash with Slytherin green and the rounded smell of old books and leather.

"I understand Miss. Granger sent you here."

"That is correct," he said.  _Not nervous._

"And her concerns are regarding...?" He fished.

Harry didn't know what he had been expecting. Whatever it was, he certainly could not have been prepared for this sterile diplomacy he was faced with, that held a shocking contrast compared with the fantastic quick wit and bright burning enthusiasm towards the subtle art of the hatred of all things Potter. It was like a complete recallibration of Harry’s memories, feelings, senses and perspective. He was uncomfortable, unsettled in the face of Malfoy’s complete indifference.

"I can't seem to cast spells any more." Harry said quickly, ashamed to be admitting this to someone who personally made it their duty to see the downfall of Harry Potter.

"Alright, and when did this begin to occur?"

Malfoy was almost being _pleasant,_ and if Harry was being perfectly honest, that was more frightening than his catastrophised anxieties about Malfoy trying to string him up and gut him. "Um, about five months ago. It started with only more intricate spells that I couldn't cast, so I thought I was just out of practise, but when I tried to cast  _wingardium leviosa_ and couldn't even do that..." Harry trailed off.

"Do you experience any pain?"

"Yes." He answered.

Malfoy glanced up at him, facial expressions schooled and guarded. "Care to elaborate?"

Harry hadn't really taken the time to notice Malfoy's eyes before, but something dreadfully traitorous in Harry's mind seemed to take extra notice to the way they were staring into him. "Um" - oh Merlin, he's started another sentence with  _um_ in front of a Malfoy - "it feels like a painful winding in the centre of my chest."

"Right." He said, and rested his newly begun file marked  _Harry James Potter_ on his bony knee. "As you have already wasted one hour of my valuable time due to your backwards view of punctuality yesterday," - ah yes, that was the Malfoy Harry knew - "we shall have to begin quickly. Luckily, I do not need to commence formalities with you."

He stood and beckoned Harry to follow as he made his way to the conservatory, in which a comfortable looking sofa stood.

"Do get yourself comfortable, Potter." Malfoy said, finding a seat behind the couch and sitting with such perfect posture that Harry almost wanted to laugh. "I'm going to be assessing your physical, mental, spiritual and emotional health for the next hour or two, depending on how willing your body is to accept an outside source."

 

-

 

 

 As it turned out, Harry's body was  _not at all_ willing to accept an 'outside source', whatever that meant, as Malfoy had only just finished assessing his physical well-being before Harry heard him slipping off his chair. "Potter, you came in today at eleven o'clock, and it is now half-past two. I have only finished a quarter of what we have to do."

"Don't you have other patients you need to work on?" Harry asked tiredly, pushing himself up from his slouched position against the side of the couch.

"Well, yes," Malfoy admitted making his way to sit on the foot stool in front of Harry, 'but I'm afraid once I start the assessment, I can't stop until it is over. I did not anticipate such a lengthy session.” Malfoy dropped his wand - made of Rowan, Harry was interested to notice - into his lap and pushed his head into his hands. "Would you mind showing me what happens to you? Just a simple spell, don't hurt yourself too badly."

Harry didn't know why Malfoy would need to see him in pain, but hey maybe old habits really do die hard. He pulled his wand out and cast an  _accio_ on the vase sitting on the window-sill. Conscious of his flourish, he tried to keep his technique as precise as possible in front of the man who had criticised him his whole life. " _Accio_ Vase." The familiar burning air bubble rose up in his chest and Harry let go of his wand to flinch and clutch at his chest.

"Yeah, that's that..." Harry looked over at Malfoy, who seemed to be transfixed on the wand lying in Harry's lap. Only then did Harry realise maybe bringing his wand wasn't such a good idea.

"You kept my wand." Malfoy said, a certain quality of tense sensitivity in his tone.

Harry bristled.

"You're the one who kept me looking for two years for a replacement."

"It became loyal to me." Harry replied curtly, ready and prepared for any comments Malfoy may throw at him that one might consider provocative. Recently, Harry had been wondering whether that was the reason he did not seem to be able to cast spells effectively, because maybe his wand was still loyal to its previous owner.

"Yes. Well." Malfoy's face became expressionless and impassive once more. 

"I noticed your wand is Rowan." Harry said mindlessly, helplessly slipping back into the antagonism that formed the foundations of his and Malfoy’s relationship. "I just thought it interesting." 

"Oh?" Malfoy said, struggling to keep the inflection from his voice. "How so?"

"Surely you understand Rowan is the wood of purity, Malfoy. Don’t know a single Slytherin to own one of them. Particularly good at duelling, if my memory doesn’t fail - trying to re-enact the past, Malfoy?”

Silence weighed like lead between them as Harry's shoulders heaved. Malfoy's body was held even more rigid than before.

A tidal wave of regret washed over him. "Mal-" 

"Get out." Malfoy demanded.

Harry grabbed his wand and didn't look back.

 

-

 

Harry re-organised his room twelve times before he decided he needed to sit down. Malfoy had done nothing but be perfectly pleasant. Well, for Malfoy, anyway. There was not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, not a crinkle on his bedsheets or under them, not a single water drop stain on the shower, all of which ended up making Harry feel rather incongruous with his dishevelled hair and untidy clothes. This just made Harry more upset, seeing how Malfoy-ish his bedroom now looked.

Harry promptly proceeded to mess it all up again.

He hated the bitterness that seemed to creep into his chest and claw itself around his heart, he hated his inability to forgive and his tendency to cling to useless anger as a grounding emotion to remind himself of things that he knew were real in his life, he hated how reactive he was in the face of a potential threat. Without diminishing blame from himself, he knew these traits were exacerbated upon his magic’s failings, and as his magic grew weaker he felt his own inadequacies grow larger. He was often too tired to apologise, even. Aside from the few good things he had managed to keep in his life: Ron and Hermione, the Weasley’s; most of the things in his life were characterised by his hatred for them and it was growing harder and harder to relate to the happiness of others around him. Excuses were made for him: growing up without his parents, huge expectations placed on him from an early age, defeating Voldemort and the years leading up to it. Harry knew it was something more, and knew it was connected to his magic. He hoped Malfoy was smart enough to tie those points together, but he knew that hope was premature at this point.

A knock at the door alerted himself to his rumination. “Come in.” 

The door opened to reveal Luna standing with a bouquet of roses in her arms. "Harry? Whatever have you done to your room?" 

Harry sighed. "Doesn't matter. What's wrong?"

"Does there have to be something wrong for me to come and tell you that it is now dinner time and you have to get in early or else all the good stuff will be taken?" Luna frowned.

"I suppose not." Harry shrugged, half-heartedly kicking a stray sock back into the pile he had made on the floor. "What's with the roses?"

Luna smiled and brought them up to her face, smelling them and smiling. "Neville is going to take me out to dinner tonight. It's our fifth wedding anniversary today."

"Congratulations." Harry said sincerely, and felt a welcome stirring of content satisfaction in his chest. He liked Neville and Luna and was immensely glad for them.

"Well, I'll be off then." Luna said, but not before taking Harry into her arms and giving him a tight squeeze. "I know you're unhappy at the moment because of your spells, but if you've got Draco helping you, then I'm sure you'll be fine." 

Luna left, leaving Harry bleakly wondered how Malfoy had become  _Draco_ to Luna and whether  _Draco_ would even want to help Harry after what Harry had said.

Nevertheless, he made his way down to the kitchens, where the smell of Roast welcomingly invaded his senses. Pushing the glass door open, Harry didn't know what he expected from the other patients at St. Mungo's, sure that after a couple of days, the novelty of  _look, it's Harry Potter_ must of worn off. But judging by the abrupt collapse of conversation once he entered the room, Harry was wrong.

 

He tried to pretend it wasn't happening, as he secured his hold of a baked potato with the prongs and transferred it onto his plate, but he couldn't help over-hearing their whispered conversations.

" _I_ heard that he tried killing his partner and this is the Ministry's way of punishing him."

"Don't be ridiculous, Deborah, why would Harry Potter ever kill anybody?"

"Apparently, he was supposed to be put in Slytherin at Hogwarts."

The other woman gasped. "No...!"

 

Harry dropped the tongs and they clattered loudly against the table, once again silencing the kitchen. He turned around to find all eyes on him. Even the house elves had stopped cooking to look. That was  _classified_ information, and frankly Harry had no clue in the world how word had got out about that.

He took his potato and roast lamb and walked back out of the kitchen, angry.

"Sir, you're not allowed to take food out of the kitchen unless you are an employee at St. Mungo's." Someone called out to him, to which he let out a very undignified screech, shoved the paper plate onto a nearby bench and stormed back into his room, clothes still strewn all over the floor. Harry had half a mind to swear at them to try to make them put themselves back in the wardrobe at the bottom of his bed, but instead swept them all into a bundle in his arms and slammed them into his trunk.

He didn't even bother showering, he just lay on his bed glaring at the stars for as long as he could before sleep tugged his eyes closed.


	5. The Mental Health of Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I know this is a bit of a late update... I was thinking of updating every week, but school's back and I've been away on a music camp on the holidays. Anyway, here's the latest chapter, hope you enjoy! :)

Harry was woken by a sharp knock on his door.

"It's me. I'm coming in." Harry heard Malfoy's gravely, emotionless voice declare as he opened the door of Harry's room. Malfoy's eyes snapped to the clothes spilling out of his trunk, and disapproval clouded his expression, but he remained silent. "I need to check your belongings to ensure you are carrying nothing that could potentially cause harm."

Harry was only barely awake - with a glance at the light outside he guessed the time to be around six o'clock. "Sure." He said hesitantly. He really did feel bad about accusing Malfoy, even though he didn't know why, and an apology was definitely due. Harry awkwardly pushed himself up from his bed.

"It seems you've been trying to search for something yourself." Malfoy commented mindlessly as he picked through the clothes in the trunk at the end of Harry's bed. "Or does it not bother you?"

Harry blushed as he clambered out of bed to order things a bit. "I was just angry."

Malfoy raised a sceptical eyebrow. "And I thought my methods of releasing anger were counter-productive." He shook Harry's books out and Harry cringed at the way the old, delicate spines swayed. "What were you angry at?"

"Just the people in the kitchen." Harry sighed. "They make dinner a less than pleasant experience."

"Try being a former Death Eater and then let's talk who has a less pleasant experience", Malfoy muttered, carding his hands through his wardrobe, which Harry had emptied onto the ground. Harry let the comment slide, knowing he had already been enough of an ass already. Malfoy went around his room, opening things, shifting his fingers through things, running his thumbs over the side of things, casting spells to detect any concealing charms (even though Harry can't even cast any spells). When Malfoy reached his bathroom and pulled open his bag, Harry's breath hitched. Why did he think he could get away with bringing an item like that into St. Mungo's?

"Potter."

Harry hung his head, refusing to look as Malfoy stepped back into the room, the item lying limply in his hand.

"This needs to be confiscated. You'll get it back when you leave, we just can't have patients owning these things while they stay, surely you understand."

Harry nodded his still hung head quickly. "I know. I'm sorry." He finally looked up at Malfoy, whose eyes were trained on him. "I don't know why I thought I could bring that in here."

"Why  _do_ you have a knife in your bag?" Malfoy asked, curiously.

"It's a dagger." Harry corrected, waiting for Malfoy to notice the coat of arms etched into the silver and for the realisation to dawn on him. When his breath hitched, Harry assumed Malfoy had understood what it was. 

"Why do you _keep_ this?" Malfoy said, the horror in his voice completely real and unmasked.

"Dobby died saving me." Harry said, not knowing why he was telling his former enemy this when even Hermione or Ron don't know that he kept it. "No matter how small or overlooked and neglected someone may be, they still have the ability to do great things." He couldn't keep his eyes off the dagger in Malfoy's hands; it looked so weird to see someone else hold it apart from him. "And whenever I feel like giving up I remember that Dobby died saving me and that he didn't do that for nothing."

Malfoy was silent for a moment. "I remember Dobby." The words were barely audible. "He had great things to say of you. My father hated that."

Harry bit the insides of his mouth, very uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. Sometimes Harry forgot that Malfoy _was_ _a Malfoy_ and that his father was _Lucius Malfoy,_ a willing servant of the man who tried to kill him multiple times.

"I'll give it back to you when I've fixed your problem." Malfoy said, and it did not go unnoticed to Harry that his choice of words were lacking the distinctive pretentious tone. "I've also been given word that you're being relocated to a room that isn't hundreds of meters away from my office." He said, tucking the dagger carefully into a pocket in between the folds of his robes. His wand appeared in his hand and he muttered a spell, and all the strewn clothes made themselves comfortable in Harry's trunk, and his bags flew to a stand still on top of the trunk.

"What's that spell?" Harry asked, having never seen it before. He knew plenty of defensive spells and attacking spells; spells to harm, because of his Auror work, but he knew very little charms.

"Variant of the  _scouring_ charm." Malfoy said, his voice dropping back to its usual indifferent tone. With another flick of his wrist and Harry's luggage began to float, following Malfoy and himself out the door.

The hallways were spookier in the odd glow of morning and the shadows were different to how Harry remembered them. "What are we doing today?" Harry asked, not liking the way the dimming candles on the sides of the walls made the shadows dance.

"We went over your physical health last time - hopefully it will be easier for me to access your mental health today. Let's hope your mind might be more welcoming. I don't particularly fancy doing that again."

"Why did it take so long?" Harry asked.

Malfoy didn't answer straight away, but his jaw clenched. Finally, he reluctantly admitted, "I don't know." 

"I'm sure it's me, not you." Harry provided, trying to be helpful.

"Oh, it's definitely you." Malfoy retorted quickly. "It's certainly not me."

"Mister Malfoy?" A voice came from no-where and they came to a stand still in the hallway in front of a small looking girl.

"Morning. What's wrong?" His voice was impatient again.

"Nothing, sir, but Mrs. Wade is here with her daughter and she is saying she booked this morning with you not this evening."

Malfoy's shoulders sagged and he let out a disdainful puff of air, annoyed. "I hope you told her she's wrong and that she has better things to do than bother me like this. I'm very busy, you know. With the _Saviour of the Wizarding World_ and all." His voice was dripping in sarcasm.

"That is what we have been trying to tell her."

"Well what do you want me to do?" Malfoy snapped.

The girl stepped back a little, frightened. "I don't know, I was just told to come and tell you." 

"Well it's not my problem." He said, reaching inside his coat pocket and retrieving a key. "Tell her and her daughter that I'll see them as soon as I can this afternoon and that they can either wait for a few hours or leave and come back later." He shoved the key inside the door and flicked his wand a little too enthusiastically to instruct Harry's luggage into his new room. The luggage hit the other side of the wall, hard, with a resounding thud.

The little girl scurried away, and Harry's disapproval must of been evident on his face, because when Malfoy looked at him, he rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that look, Potter. If you had her running around managing to get every little errand she has to do wrong, you'd be the same way."

Harry probably would of, but that was hardly the point. "How old is she?"

"Sixteen." Malfoy said, spelling the room clean, and ridding the smell from wherever it was coming from. "Her parents want her to be Healer and have taken her out of school to enrol her in all these courses at St. Mungo's. Of course, her parents think she's actually getting trained here or something, but we all use her for the errand girl." He pauses. "It's really very disheartening, really." Malfoy turned to Harry. "Let's go get you sorted out."

 

-

 

While Malfoy was searching around in Harry's mind, Harry noticed a book lying on the table titled ' _Pureblood Customs: the Meaning of Flowers.'_ If Harry had not been searching for a way to apologize, he wouldn't of given the book a second glance. He didn't know what it was about that book, but something just screamed at him that it was the right way to go about it. "That's an interesting book you have there."

"Hmm? Oh, Mother decided to cultivate a garden at the Manor. She thinks I know a lot of stuff about which flowers you should plant and which ones bring bad luck if you plant them next to each other, but I was just bluffing to try and impress her. Now that she's asked me to help her, I actually need to know some stuff about it. So trust me, I'm not doing it for leisure reading."

"Are you saying there's anything wrong with reading non-fiction books for pleasure?"

There was a pause, then, "no, but I don't understand why you would choose to when there are so many brilliant stories out there."

Harry didn't know why Malfoy was being so nice - just yesterday he had insulted him, and now here he was, acting as if he hadn't. The Malfoy Harry went to school with would of been complaining about it for months. But then again, Harry always thought he didn't know the real Malfoy at all during his last few years at school.

He was almost about to ask him, but quickly decided not to. "How does everyone know I was supposed to be in Slytherin?"

"You _what?"_ Malfoy spluttered.

"You didn't know?" Harry asked. "Because that woman at dinner surely did."

"There have been no reports about that, ever."

"You're sure?" Harry demanded. "Because that isn't something I go around saying all the time and I want to know how it got out." 

"Potter," Malfoy said, "it probably didn't. That woman was probably just trying to stir up the person she was talking to. I follow all the papers closely so I get a rounded view of everything so my opinions can be well supported. Trust me, this is news to me."

"Dear Merlin." Harry said to himself. "I've just told Draco Malfoy I'm supposed to be a Slytherin."

"I've just been told that Harry Potter was supposed to be a Slytherin. You know, that makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it." Malfoy's voice was ever so slightly amused.

"Yeah?"

"You were always sneaking around doing something without getting caught." Malfoy said. "So why weren't you Sorted into Slytherin?"

"I asked the Sorting Hat not to." Harry replied.

"That was it?" Malfoy asked, brows furrowed.

"I suppose so, yeah." Harry sighed. House pride was really something that never left Hogwarts students, but sometimes he wondered about their futility, if Harry was able to choose his house. "What's the patient in after me for?" He asked, changing the subject.

"The little girl has an auto-immune disease, meaning her body is attacking itself, really. She goes to a muggle doctor for that, but she comes to me for reboots of cells, basically." He sighed. "She's a lovely girl, actually."

Harry fell silent, playing with the one piece of thread straying from the hem on his shirt. He wanted to say something like  _that's terrible_ because it really was, but the phrase was so over-used that Harry thought it probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone. _  
_

"If you didn't become an Auror, what would you be?" Malfoy then asked, presumably to distract him from the uncomfortable pressure Harry could feel inside his head.

"I'd like to run an Orphanage." He replied. "That's what I was going to do, but everyone expected me to be an Auror and it was like I couldn't be anything else but. I'd still like to open one eventually."

"You're not scared you'd be a bad father?"

Harry could hear an implied ' _seeing as you never grew up with one'_ but he chose to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt. "Not particularly. Are you?"

"All the time."

His icey-grey eyes locked with Harry's for a brief, intense moment, before flicking away uncomfortably. Harry never knew what happened between Lucius and his son, but the things he has heard haven't been good. "So how's my mental state?" Harry asks, anxious to get off the topic.

"Awful." Malfoy said bluntly. "You're not happy with much, you know." He took a sharp intake of breath. "Yes! Maybe that's it." 

Harry turned around, his head foggy, to see Malfoy jump up from his chair to retrieve his file from the other side of the room. "Maybe this malfunction of your magic is trying to tell you that you need to focus on your emotional state more before you go crazy. Maybe you just need to be separate yourself from magic so you can focus on this." 

"Okay." Harry said unhappily. He had been unhappy for as long as he could remember: first it was growing up treated as a slave, then it was the war and having the constant fear of being killed weighing over him like a lead blanket for his teenage years, and then even when the war ended, followers of Voldemort were trying to avenge their leaders death. There had never been a time Harry had felt safe, and he didn't know if that could be solved quickly.

There was a knock at the door and a plump woman with a red face and orange and yellow robes barged into to Malfoy's office, looking rather absurd in his pristine and gracefully elegant room. "I demand you see my daughter right now, Malfoy!"

Malfoy blinked and his head twitched, lips pursing. Clearly he did not like being addressed without the title in front of his name. " _Eleanor,_ " he said back with a set jaw and gritted teeth, _"_ I told you when our appointment time is. You are an hour early."

"You're done, yes?"

"Yes, but that is besides -"

Mrs. Wade pushed her daughter in front of her. "Come on, Sophie."

The girl - Sophie - was really very pretty, if you erased the lines of exhaustion from her face and gave colour to her skin. Her eyes were deep and regretful, begging forgiveness. Harry felt almost immediately aggressively protective over her.

"We are done, it's okay." He said, smiling at Sophie, hoping to convey friendliness.

Sophie smiled tiredly back at him. "Hello, Mr. Potter."

 "It's _Auror_ Potter, Sophie." Mrs. Wade said. "Don't be rude." 

Malfoy snorted loudly and obnoxiously - purposefully, probably - and Harry could almost hear him thinking  _that's rich, coming from you_. 

Harry stood. "Healer Malfoy," purposefully dropping the title, "if we're done, can Sophie take an appointment early?"

Malfoy smiled at her, and Harry realised that he had never seen Malfoy smile before. His lips stretched in an almost friendly way to reveal small, neat teeth and it was truly a beautiful thing. "Come in, Sophie." Mrs. Wade began to walk in, and Malfoy put up a hand. "Sorry,  _Mrs. Wade_ but the regulations have changed now and we cannot have any one else except for the patient and myself in the room."

"That is preposterous!" Mrs. Wade shrilled. "Don't be ridiculous, let me in."

"Mrs. Wade, I'm afraid it is true." Harry spoke. "I wasn't allowed to have anyone in here either."

"Like anyone would  _want_ to." The woman bit out, collecting her heavy skirt in her hands and exiting dramatically.

"Sorry." Sophie whispered, embarrassed.

Malfoy laughed and hugged her, and that right there were two sights Harry never thought he would ever see. "It's okay. And thanks, Potter."

He smiled. "That's okay. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"See you."

 

-

 

Harry decided to Floo Ron as soon as he left from his appointment. He raced to the Floo Network as quickly as he could, grabbed the free Floor Powder and called out "The Burrow!"

He stepped out from the Weasley's fireplace, to come face to face with a flustered looking Molly Weasley. 

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said, surprised. "I thought you were at St. Mungo's!"

"I am, yes. I was wondering if I could check your library." Harry said, stepping out of the grimy fireplace.

"Of course, dear." She said, taking Harry into her arms and squeezing him tight, as she always did. "How are you? Do you want to talk to Ron?"

"I'm managing, for the time being, thank you. And yes, please."

"Ron!" She bellowed. "Harry's here!"

There was a moment, a scuttle and then Ron's head appeared at the banister. "Harry? You're supposed to be at St. Mungo's."

"Yes, so I've heard." Harry muttered to himself.

Ron came rushing down the stairs, sweeping his hair off his forehead. "Do you want to come up?"

"Actually, I just need one thing, if that's okay. I only get about an hour out of St. Mungo's every day, and I need to get somewhere else after this." Harry explained.

"Oh." Ron's face fell. "I'm beating Ginny in chess though." 

"Ron, you're always beating Ginny in chess."

He brightened again. "That's true. What do you need?"

"Do you have any books on Pureblood customs?" Harry asked.

Ron frowned and made a sour face. "Unfortunately, yes. Why?"

"I was just thinking of doing some reading about Flower Symbolism. It seems interesting." He hoped his lie was convincing enough, or that Ron was particularly unobservant today. Which ever it was, Ron didn't pick up on Harry's falsehoods.

"Come with me." Ron said, leading Harry into a room, the walls lined with books, like Malfoy's office, except with warmer colours. "This section is Pureblood customs." He said, pointing to the darker books. "There's a bunch of ones about Flowers, and we're not using them if you want them all."

"That would be great, Ron, thanks."

He nodded, pulling the tattered heavy books from the places in the bookshelves. There were about seven of them, and Harry made a face.

"On the other hand, can I just take two?"

Ron laughed. "Thought so. Take these two." He said, putting the others back. "Hermione seems to think they're better than the other ones. She gets bored at work, I think."

Harry laughed back, embracing his friend. "Thanks, Ron. I'm sorry to just take and run, but I really must be getting going."

"Any time, Harry." He said. "Hermione's stopping by tomorrow or something, I think, too."

"Oh, nice. I  _need_ to tell you about what happens at dinner."

"'Mione'll tell me." He smiled.

"Thanks again." Harry said, and left.

 

-

 

He stopped by the flower shop and opened one of the books, looking up the letter F, until he reached the subject of Forgiveness.

There were many different forms of Forgiveness, among which were listed 'Forgiveness of friends', 'Forgiveness of Lovers', 'I forgive you', 'Forgiveness for a crime', 'Forgive me.' But the one that struck Harry the most was: 'I am sorry, please forgive me' which was represented by Purple Hyacinth.

He shut the book, and wished he could shrink them. He didn't even know where he left his wand last - probably still in Malfoy's office. The door tinkled as he opened it and the typical smell of flowers washed his senses. 

"Hello." A soft spoken man said from behind the counter. "How can I help you today?"

"I am looking for some Hyacinth's." Harry said, looking around as if to pretend he knew what they looked like.

"Any particular colour?" The man asked.

"Purple."

Harry paid 12 Knuts for one flower, and left, inhaling the smell of the flower.

He politely asked to use the man's Floo, to which he smiled brightly, all 'anything for Harry Potter!' And as Harry made his way back into his room, he felt as if he's finally done something right. 


	6. Flowers & Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'd just like to give a massive hug and a chocolate cake and a unicorn to all the people who comment because I see you even if I don't reply and I really appreciate your feedback and encouragement.
> 
> Thank you for reading this bullshit, and here is the latest chapter!

"They're starving me, 'Mione!" Harry said miserably. "I think it's some psychological tactic to stop me from getting dinner to starve me and then getting the title of the killer of the Chosen One."

Hermione laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

"I'm serious!" Harry cried. "I can't go into the kitchen without everyone gaping at me. I'm so hungry, Hermione, you don't understand."

"Oh, come off it, I'm sure it's not that bad." Hermione said, to which Harry threw a sour look. "Anyway," she continued, reaching into her bag, "I thought you be interested in an update on the Renford case." She pulled out a large folder, files and sheets neatly combined into sections and subsections. "That, and I want to talk to someone about it without being arrested for asking for help."

Harry snorted. "And here I was thinking you came to keep me company."

Hermione stared at him with a blank face, demanding his cooperation.

"No." Harry re-stated. "I'm tired and hungry and I'm supposed to be sick, you can't make me work when you sent me here in the first place."

"I promise you'll find this interesting." Hermione dismissed his complaints with a shove of the folder in Harry's direction. He ran his hand through his hair and reluctantly took the offensively yellow folder.

"I don't think we should be discussing this here, but okay." With one quick sweep around the lounge of St. Mungo's, Harry ensured they were alone and opened the folder.

"See, here?" Hermione said as soon as Harry had turned to the first page, casting up a quick muffling charm just in case. "If only we could prove that he's doing something wrong."

"At least we know he's guilty." Harry said, scanning his eyes over the information in front of him. "Besides, I don't think you're going to find a way to lock him up with a list of his purchases over the past month."

"Look closer." Hermione said.

Half-way between not being bothered and being excited with new information about Renford, Harry paid attention to the list of things he had bought. His brow furrowed. "What on Earth is he doing buying Asphodel?"

"Oh, marvellous!" Hermione exclaimed. "You know what some of these do?"

"You _don't_ know what these do?" Harry asked, immensely sceptical. Potions and herbal ingredients were always more amongst Hermione's realm of talents than his.

"I didn't care to remember any of outside of what I needed at school."

Harry shook his head, refraining from laughing. _Only_ _Hermione_ could continue to surprise him with exceptions to her character. "Asphodel is used in Draught of Living Death. There's Wormwood here too, which is also used for that." Harry summarised. "A lot of these aren't used in many harmful potions, though."

"Why would Renford be making Draught of Living Death?"

"We don't know that he is." Harry said. "Asphodel is also used in Wiggenweld Potion, which is harmless."

"Wormwood isn't used in Wiggenweld, though."

"True." Harry bit his thumb. "Asphodel was assosiated by the Greek Wizards with Death and the Underworld; he has to be up to something bad." He said around his thumb.

Hermione sighed loudly. "We're not going to be able to catch him away with this! He's so careful!"

Harry looked at his over-worked, exhausted friend with sympathy in his eyes and automatically felt bad for complaining about being tired just a moment ago. "'Mione." He said, squeezing her shoulders. "We'll catch him, I promise. No matter how long it takes."

 

-

 

Harry was nervous again, waiting for the door to be opened. He heard laughter coming from within, and he clutched the flower tighter at his side. Apprehension about his choice of methods for asking for forgiveness swelled in his chest, but it was too late as the door swung open and a sparkling - eyed Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway.

"Come in." He said, his voice lighter than usual.

Harry, frowning at Malfoy's unusual behaviour, stepped inside, the flower cool and heavy in his hand. However, it seemed they were not alone.

"Potter, you remember Pansy?" Malfoy said, gesturing between the two of them as he closed the door, shutting out the soft roar of the hospital halls.

Harry looked at Pansy and watched her smile dim. "Of course." He said, keeping his tone neutral. "Why are you here at St. Mungo's?"

"Oh, just dropping by to visit Draco." She said, smiling and tweaking Malfoy's ear. Harry watched Malfoy blush, cast his eyes to the ground to slap her hand away. He was still smiling. "He said he was getting lonely."

"I was not." Malfoy snapped, his trademark scowl settling back on to his features. "You're a little shit, Pansy."

"Okay." Pansy grinned. "Anyway, I'm supposed to be meeting with your mother for coffee right now, so I must be going."

Malfoy showed her out, and it was all Harry could do not to stare at the way he pulled her into a tight embrace against his chest. Harry wondered how it must feel to be hugged like that. The door shut, along with Malfoy's expression. He opened his mouth to tell Harry to sit down, but shut it promptly upon noticing the purple flower in Harry's hand. "What's that?"

Harry glanced at the flower. "It's for you." He said, extending his arm to give it to Malfoy. "...Because of the other day."

Malfoy took a sharp intake of breath, and his hand slowly reached up to meet Harry's. Their eyes locked and he wrapped his fingers around the stem, plucking it from Harry's. "Thank you." He said, so softly it was almost inaudible. He drew back quickly, tucking the flower into a vase already filled with yellow roses. When he turns around, the coolness is back in his eyes, his body rigid once more.

"Where'd you get the roses from?" Harry asked. "I didn't see them yesterday."

"Pansy gave them to me today." Malfoy said, leading Harry into the conservatory. Harry made a mental note to look up what yellow roses represent as soon as he got back to his room. The conservatory was different to how Harry remembered it; instead of the couches, there was one cushioned table (Italian leather, of course) in the centre of the room, and different coloured stones suspended in mid air. "This looks different." Harry said, stupidly.

"I transfigured a couple things for today because there is something else I wish to address." He explained, beckoning Harry inside, who was looking cautiously at the table like it might bite him. Once Harry had slid himself onto the table, Malfoy took position behind his head. "I'm checking your core, today."

"My core?"

"Your core is the crux of your character and the root of your soul. It is more personal than I would typically take on with a regular patient - but you aren't exactly are regular patrient. I will be needing your permission to do it."

Harry laughed: didn't Malfoy just say that that was what he was going to do, before asking permission? "Yeah, sure. Go for it."

"No, Harry." Malfoy said, and Harry's amused smile fell from his lips. "I need more than your mental acceptance, I need you to think about it, and _feel_ that it's okay."

Harry drew in a sharp breath. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why', you git? It's just the way it is." Malfoy snapped.

Harry bit the inside of his mouth, annoyed. Just a moment ago, Malfoy's walls were relaxed and he was staring at Harry with an almost thoughtful look, and now he was throwing biting comments at him again. Nevertheless, he cleared his mind, telling himself he was okay with whatever Malfoy was going to do until he believed it.

"This won't hurt, but you will feel uncomfortable." Malfoy warned, raising his wand. "I ask you to please remain as still as possible."

Harry gritted his teeth. Malfoy probably chose this just so he _could_ make him uncomfortable. He had half the mind to jump off the table and rip the flower he gave to him in to pieces and leave, but his Gryffindor stubbornness forced his body to remain still. Harry felt what Malfoy was talking about almost immediately and he gasped.

"My apologise." Malfoy muttered, almost reluctantly. "Are you experiencing any disorientation?"

"A bit." Harry said, breathless. "It.. actually, I feel better." He watched Malfoy's wand movements halt just for a second, and then a ball of light emerged from his chest.

"Better? How so?"

"Like..." Harry struggled to find the words, "lighter? Happier? I feel more natural."

"No one has ever said that before." Malfoy said. "Usually people are talking through clenched teeth and having to grip pillows to stop themselves from punching me."

"Was that the desired effect, then?" Harry said, dryly. "Well, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit of that too. Only I don't think it was the spell which caused it."

"Huh." Malfoy said to himself, intrigued, disregarding or not noticing Harry's comment. He poked the ball of golden light with the tip of his wand and it jumped lazily, before taking its place again over Harry's chest. "The name 'Golden Boy' is quite fitting, it seems."

Harry frowned. "Was that a joke you just made?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment before he snapped, "no, Potter, don't be ridiculous." The ball spun around in circles, little tendrils of light fluttering around it. "It's confused." Malfoy said. "And there's something... else. I haven't actually seen it before."

"What's wrong with it?" Harry asked, vaguely aware he was referring to his self as an it.

"It's hollow."

"Hollow." Harry repeated, unimpressed. "What does that mean? I can't see anything wrong with it."

" _You're_ not supposed to be able to see anything wrong with it; the possessor of the crux can only see  it in its purest form. Quite arrogant, really. As for what it means?" Malfoy sighed. "Frankly, I haven't a clue."

The ball of light bobbed up and down helplessly and Harry reached out to touch it, only to get his hand slapped away.

"Don't touch it, you idiot!" Malfoy exclaimed. "You don't know what it is, what it could do, and you decide to test it out by touching it?"

Harry remailed silent, feeling very put in his place. Malfoy shook his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling as if in prayer, muttering skmethig about Gryffindors. "Unbelievable, Potter. How you are still alive is a mystery to me. Congratulations, you have effectively drained my last bit of usefullnes. I'll see you soon." He said, disapparating and leaving Harrry alone in his big, silent office. With a glance at the the heavy longcase clock standing by the entrance door, Harry realised it was dinner time. He had come up with a plan and if dinner was still intolerable, he would cook for himself when everyone had gone to bed. There was nothing he had read about not being allowed to walk around at night, so he figured he wasn't breaking any rules.

 

-

 

Unfortunately for Harry, he had to go another night without dinner, and it was taking a toll on his mood, even after just finishing his breakfast. Scrubbing harder than usual at his skin with the soap, he turned the hot water up until it was only just bearable. He couldn't exercise, he couldn't eat dinner, he hated Malfoy, he hated St. Mungo's. All there was to do was sit and read and go to appointments every day. Most of what was ruining his attitude was the realisation of how dependant he was on Ron and Hermione. He would survive with regular visits and weekly friendly Quidditch matches between the Weasley's, Harry, and his godson, Teddy. He would put up a fight about how he would prefer to stay indoors and mope around, but now that that was all Harry  _could_ do, he realised how completely wrong he was. He was going to go crazy.

In fact, what angered Harry even more, is the fact that now  _Malfoy_ was his only anchor. Aside from the occasional 'hi' Luna would drop him, Malfoy was the only one he could talk to, and Malfoy was the only one he couldn't talk to about what he wanted to talk about.

He took a deep breath, realising that maybe Hermione was right about his lack of magic affecting his mood. Why did Hermione always have to be right all the time? It was possibly one of the most infuriating and frustrating things about Hermione. Harry sighed and apologised mentally to Hermione for even thinking that; he really did love her and felt guilty for even thinking badly against her.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, steam clouding the bathroom. He wrapped his towel around his body and opened the door to his room, the cool air hitting him unforgivably. 

There was a flower on his bed, along side with something else Harry couldn't decipher. He stepped closer and his shoulders stiffened; Bellatrix's dagger lay on his bed, a note attached to it. Harry picked it up and read the elegantly slanted words:

_I understand this is important to you. Tell any one and I will personally make it so that you lose the ability to walk._

_D. M_

He picked up the dagger, turning it over in his fingers, and all the aggravated energy he seemed to be holding so tightly loosened and began to fall away. Harry ran his index finger over the tip of the blade, before hastily pushing it under his pillow. He turned his attention to the flower, and sat, still wrapped in his towel, on the bed. Harry reached for his book, stored in the middle drawer of his bedside table, and flicked to the back of the book, where you could search by flower rather than by message.

He flicked through the pages before he found: _Daffodil: forgiveness, new beginnings, thank you for understanding._ _  
_

 Without thinking about why, he turned to front and searched under Roses, Yellow, to which he was greatly relieved resembed happiness.

"Mr. Potter?" There was a knock on Harry's door, and adrenaline rushed through his body as he jumped, startled. "May I come in?"

Harry quickly threw on a shirt and pulled on jeans, smoothing out his hair (to no avail) before opening the door. The little girl Malfoy had been mean to before stood in the doorway, looking as small and innocent as ever, making it hard to remember that she was sixteen. He watched her abnormally large eyes flick to his forehead without an ounce of discretion and Harry had the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes?" He said kindly, plastering on his warmest smile, trying to compensate for Malfoy's rude behaviour the other day.

"Mister Malfoy says that your appointment with him is cancelled today, so you get an extra hour out today."

A mischievous grin spread across Harry's face. "Do you call him Mister Malfoy to his face," Harry glanced at her plastic name tag pinned to her robes, "Athena?"

She gasped at being addressed by her first name, and a twinge of sorrow placed itself right in Harry's heart; he knew all too well about not being addressed by name. "Yes, I do." Athena said, confused. "Is it not his name?"

Harry laughed. "Oh, no it's his name alright."  _And doesn't he know it._ "I just know that he doesn't like being addressed as anything other than  _Healer Malfoy_." He said, imitating Malfoy's pretentious drawl, earning a giggle from Athena. _  
_

"Is that why he's so mean to me?" Athena exclaimed excitedly. "If I call him Healer Malfoy will he not yell at me any more?"

"He'll yell at you regardless," Harry laughed, squeezing her shoulder, "but at least you can't give him reason any more." He remembered Malfoy saying something about her memory, but knowing Malfoy, he was probably over-exaggerating. "Your parents must be proud of you for working here."

"Oh." She said quietly. "I don't have any parents. They died in the fight against You-Know-Who."

"Oh." Harry said, words failing, but pity and empathy swelling violently in his chest. "I'm so sorry... Healer Malfoy told me otherwise."

"He told you that my parents took me out of school to train to be a Healer?" Athena asked quietly. "Yes, that's what he tells everyone for me."

Harry was silent for a moment, wondering why Malfoy would do something like that for someone he treats like rubbish. "I think they'd still be very proud of you." He said back, just as quietly. "Do you know who you share your name with?"

Athena shook her head, eyes wide.

"Athena was a very famous Goddess; the Greek Goddess of Wisdom and War. She defeated the Titan of Warcraft and used his skin as a shield so she could single-handedly defend Mount Olympus. She's also named Minerva, in Roman Mythology." Harry said. He knew that Athena would not understand the symbolism of that last part, but he said it anyway. "Clearly your parents know you're going to do great things."

She smiled. "I hope they're watching me now."

Harry understood so well what she meant by that. "I can promise on that one, they are." He said, and he could almost feel Sirius' warm, steady hand on his shoulder, encouraging him. He remembered when he saw his parents before going to meet his death, how they smiled at him like he was the only good thing in the Universe. How Sirius reassured him death wouldn't hurt, the look of complete love in all of their eyes. He chose to believe they were right there, watching him, when he died. 

"Potter, did you get the-" Malfoy's voice started and stopped abruptly, noticing Harry kneeling in front of the tiny sixteen year old girl. "Did you give him the message?" He asked Athena.

"Yes, Mis- Healer Malfoy." Athena said, quickly making her way out the door. "See you soon, Harry." She said, smiling and giving him a tiny wave.

Harry rose gently from his knees, Malfoy frowning in a bemused way. "Healer, huh?"

"You know," Harry said, giving him a disparaging look, "she does have a name."

"So do you." Malfoy pointed out. "Doesn't mean I use the correct one all the time."

"That's different." Harry scowled. "We grew up calling each other by our last names. Besides, I would've thought you'd have the decency to be nicer to an orphaned girl."

"She told you that, huh. Figures." Malfoy said. "Don't over-identify.  You'll get hurt that way."

Harry bit his tongue before he could retort.  _Don't over-identify. You'll get hurt that way._ "Where does she live?"

"Aric Duran's Orphanage for Neglected Children." Malfoy replied. "She comes and goes when she pleases."

"Has anyone even offered her a place to stay?" Harry exclaimed angrily.

"Well, I've offered for her to stay at the Manor, but it seems that the idea of her living at the place where her parents murderers resided scares her. Can't fathom why." He bites.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... sorry. I didn't think." He said again.

"Clearly." Malfoy drawled, face remaining impassive aside from the arching of a fine eyebrow.

"Um." Harry tried, uncomfortable with the way Malfoy was looking at him. "I got your Daffodil."

Malfoy peered onto his bed and then looked back at Harry. "I'll see you soon, then?" Without waiting for Harry's response, Malfoy swept out of his room, taking his haughty sneer and sour remarks with him.

 

 

-

 

The streets of Diagon Alley were busier than Harry had remembered them being. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the Alley. 

"Mistah Pott-a!" A reporter was almost instantly in his face. "It true that yer in St. Mungo's?"

Harry opened his eyes, glaring at him. "All that remained of Voldemort was a pile of dust. I advise you to tread lightly."

The reporter recoiled quite violently at the name, muttered embarrassed and frightened apologies and scampered off.

Harry headed to George's shop. After Fred's death, George was too distraught to continue their business, 'It just wasn't the same without him there, Harry.' Instead, he used his skills to open up a drink shop, where he sold different drinks for different moods. It was next to Gringott's, and you could tell George owned it. The shop was painted in rich, vibrant reds and golds, little painted lions parading up and down the banister of the verandah. Harry stepped inside, a band playing in the corner of his shop.

"Harry!" He greeted him, smiling.

The war had changed every one, and George was no exception to this. His moods were more pacified, and his hair was neater. Even his clothes changed. When Fred died, George really lost it: he began stealing from shops, he'd disappear for hours and not return to his home until early hours of the morning. He went to visit Charlie and ended up trying to steal a baby dragon, and when it was discovered that it was he who stole the dragon, George had burst into a fit of tears claiming that it reminded him of Fred too much to leave. It took George years to stop grieving, longer than every one else.

"George." Harry greeted back, warmly embracing his old friend. "How are you?"

"Oh, holding up, y'know. Sometimes Ron comes in and helps out, which is kind of him. How's it with you in St. Mungo's?"

Harry sat on the barstool and picked up the list on the bar bench. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

George's eyes lit alight with curiosity. "Sure, Harry. What's the goss?"

Harry snorted - George had recently began taking after his fathers obsession with Muggles, and had started using Muggle phrases whenever he could. "Guess who my Healer is?"

George gave him a look as to say _I'm not guessing, Harry._

Harry shrugged, grinning, replying with his silent  _I'm not telling unless you guess._ _  
_

"Is it Luna? I heard she's someone involved in St. Mungo's."

"Not Luna." Harry said, then the excitement and near scandal of telling George exactly who was treating him won out. "It's Malfoy."

"Malfoy?  _Draco_ Malfoy?" He repeated, astonished.

"None other." Harry said, quite liking the look of 'Sugar-pumpkin with olive twist for moods in which you want to bash your head into a wall'. "Hey, can I have this drink?"

George spun the list around and looked at it scornfully. "Not unless you actually want to bash your head into a wall. I do hope my company isn't that grievous."

Harry laughed. "Why not?"

"It's really pacifying. You'll probably pass out, or something. I could just make the drink without the magic, if you want, though."

Harry nodded, and George set to work behind the bar. 

"What's weirder," Harry continued, "is that he's not even  _mean_ any more. I mean, sure, he's kind of terrible to this kid, and he's still a complete git, and irritatingly self-important, plus he's snarky and falls into these spectacular moods when the moment takes him, but he's not _me_ _an,_ you get me?"

"Well, he never was, was he?" George added.

"Come again?"

"Malfoy was never mean. He was just a poncy little shit who made a bunch of wrong choices." George explained. "I'm glad he's not suffering for the choices he made."

Harry could see the implied message. Never did he think he'd see George Weasley empathizing with Draco Malfoy. Harry hummed in mutual agreement.

"He a good Healer?" George asked, placing the drink down in front of Harry, and resuming his leaning position against the bar.

"The best, apparently." He replied, taking a sip, moaning as the thick taste filled his mouth. "This is amazing, by the way." 

"Thanks, Harry." George smiled. "What happened to you, anyway?"

"I can't cast spells." Harry said. "I'm not exactly sure why, and Malfoy doesn't seem to know either."

"That's horrible! I'm sure he'll-" George whipped around, "sorry, Harry, I'm being called." He disappeared to tend to other customers. 

 

Harry waited five minutes after he finished his drink for George to come back to talk more, but he only rushed around the bar, his face becoming redder and redder as a struggled to keep up with demands. He contemplated calling George out to say good bye, but instead left a note

_Sorry George, I have to get back to St. Mungo's sooner or later and I figured it would be best not to disturb you. I really hope to see you again soon some time and I think this drink is one of the best I've ever had. Please don't give me my tip back just because we're friends - you really deserve it._

And with that, Harry left the money with his note, and doubled his tip.

He walked out of the bar and pulled on his coat, feeling full and comforted with a belly full of warm beverage. He was about to close his eyes to Apparate, before something out of the corner of his eye flashed at him. He made his way across the street and peered down into the steel box, in which lay a very small snake. A piece of paper had been pinned to the side of the container, reading:

_Rescued from Animal Trials. Looking for a good home. Free._

He dipped his hand into the box and the snake awoke with a fright. 

"Hey." Harry hissed at it, hoping his Parseltongue was still just as good as it was years ago.

_Hello, human. Have you come to take me from this miserable place or are you going to look at me and walk away like everyone else?_

Harry had no clue what made him do it, or why, but he took the snake. He had been searching for a new companion, but all anyone seemed to be stocking were owls, and Harry didn't think he could ever try to replace Hedwig. "What is the name you go by?" Harry hissed at his snake as it curled around his wrist.

_I have not a name. You may call me whatever you please._

"And what of your family?"

 _Sold to the Animal Trials. My brother got eaten by a hawk._ The snake hissed back miserably.

"I'm sorry." He said, unsure how to console a snake.

_It is okay. I have made my peace._

And with that, Harry made his way back to St. Mungo's, with his little companion curled around his wrist.

 

 

-

 

_I can smell food._

"Yes, this is where House-Elves prepare food."

 _You did not eat before?_ The snake blinked up at him.

"Long story." Harry said, not sure he was up to a rant about how eternal glory was so hard. "But I'm going to cook now." He said, gently tugging his snake off his wrist and placing him on the bench. "What do you like to eat?"

_Small creatures..._

"Aside from that?"

_They are all I have tried to eat._

Harry pulled the pasta, tomatoes, garlic and basil from the walk-in pantry and flicked the gas on, heating up water. Arthur Weasley would be so proud of him right now. "You'll try something different tonight."

_Okay. Who are you?_

"My name's Harry." Harry said, beginning to chop the tomatoes. "My last name is Potter, if you must know."

 _Harry Potter._ The snake mused.  _What an interesting name. Have I heard of your name anywhere before?_

Harry smiled to himself. "I can't imagine why."

Yes, he decided. This was a good idea.

 

 

\-----------

A.N.

I know Harry isn't a Parselmouth after he defeats Voldemort, but I just really like the idea of him still being able to talk to snakes because that's freaking  _cool._


	7. Years Worth of Conversation

Orpheus.

Harry had slept on it all night, and he had decided to call the snake, who was coiled tightly thrice around his wrist, Orpheus. He had no clue why that was the name appealing to him, but apparently some things were just meant to be. It felt right; he didn't feel as lonely with another living thing to talk to that no one else could, something of his own. He could imagine what Hermione would to say to that, something about his deficiency of happiness, but Harry knew himself better than what Hermione thought of him. Rarely did Harry feel like his own person: it was like everyone in the Wizarding World knew his name and therefore owned a little part of him somehow.

"Orpheus." He said to the snake, who was asleep on his lap as Harry absent-mindedly read through _The Intricacies & Specifics of Flower Language_. It was disconcerting, the pale yellow eyes staring at you, no eyelids to close to indicate sleep. "Do you like that name, Orpheus?"

Orpheus stirred against his wrist and his grip loosened somewhat. _'tis nice, Mister Harry. I am hungry._

Harry smiled. "You don't have to call me Mister, you know. We're friends, okay?"

 _Friends are over-rated_.

He smiled gently at the snake. "Not all of them."

 

-

 

Once Harry had practically inhaled his four o’clock lunch with Orpheus (he didn't need to be reluctant about sharing his food any more, after eating last night), he walked across the hall and down four doors, into the foyer of Malfoy's office.

Just as he knocked on the oversized door, a short, plump woman came flying, her robes clenched in her fists as she rushed through the corridors, wailing, "Lockdown! Lockdown! Monster in the Hospital! Everybody hide! Lockdown!"

The door was yanked open immediately and Harry was pulled roughly through the door by one particularly Muggle-y dressed Malfoy. "Your time for today was actually a lot later, Potter." He said, scowling. "If I had've known, I wouldn't have dressed so frivolously."

Harry looked up him and down, his mouth in an O shape. He had never seen Malfoy in jeans and grey sweater before, but he decided it was a good look for him. "Your socks," Harry said, feeling a grin spreading itself over his face. "I approve."

Malfoy scowl deepened. "If you approve, they must be worse that I imagined."

On his left foot, he wore a white sock with pink flamingos, and on his right, a grey one with dull coloured stripes.

"I accidentally feel asleep here, doing research for you - don't give me that look - and this was all I could find, and it was cold. Seemingly, the study is so engaging that I forgot to change.”

"Well no need to get so defensive." Harry joked, raising his palms to the air in mock defence.

"I get the feeling you'd get along really well with the person who gave me these socks." Malfoy said with a look of pure murder in his eyes. The woman from outside was racing down the hallway again, her voice growing louder and softer as she shrieked her warnings along the corridor.

"What's happening?" Harry suddenly remembered to ask, recovering from his momentary shock of seeing Malfoy in Muggle clothes.

Malfoy shrugged, and walked further into his over-grown office and lowered himself into the finely upholstered chair behind the slab of wood he made of his desk. "I’m sure it’s nothing serious; we've had a few of these before. St. Mungo’s isn't as well protected as everyone likes to think it is."

"Really?" Harry mused; Hermione would be interested to know that. "What happened to the mannequin that used to work here for administration?”

"Got sacked when it let me in," Malfoy said curtly. "Can't let _Death Eaters_ into a Hospital, can we, no, they can just _die_." His tone was bitter, and it was a good thing Malfoy was looking down at his clasped hands, because he didn't particularly fancy seeing the look of disgust with himself Harry knew would be in his eyes.

Harry bit his lip. He wondered what happened to him that made him need to go to St. Mungo's in the first place, wondered about his choice of words:  _they can just die_ , and whether Malfoy _would of_ died had the mannequin had not made the mistake. So he asked. "What happened to you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," was his reply.

Harry fiddled with his jacket for a moment, before opening his mouth to re-assure Malfoy that he didn't need to, but Malfoy turned around, a certain sensitivity in his eyes, and corrected his statement. "That's not even true; I really want to talk about it, just not with you."

It was a slap in Harry's face, but then again, what did he really expect? At the end of the day, Harry was still Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Malfoy was still ‘Death Eater scum’, and they weren’t supposed to get along. There was such a wild, unrelenting chasm of rawness between them, and they would stand at either side of it and yell at each other over the distance, pretending it wasn't there.

“Anyway,” Malfoy said, not wanting to dwell on painful matters. He opened a drawer with the flick of his wand and pulled out a shiny band made of what Harry guessed to be platinum. “This is for you.”

He passed it to Harry, who turned it over in his fingers, wondering how Malfoy could turn his emotions off just like that. “What is it?”

“A special Portkey from yours truly. It won’t get you everywhere, but it is attuned to your magical being and knows your 53 most visited places, if you want to get there quickly. I’ve seen you trying to get around London without being able to Apparate, Harry, it’s quite amusing.” He said and drew back, folding his arms over his chest, wand poking out from under his fingers. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

He did. “Thank you,” Harry said in wonderment. “When did you get it?”

“Yesterday,” Malfoy replied. “Speaking of yesterday, I wanted to show you what I was working on, but we’re not allowed to do much magic when we’re in lockdown.” He took a breath, “I’ve found out something quite concerning.”

“Okay?” Harry said, unsure, slipping the ring into his pocket. “I was reading up on what it meant to have a hollow crux; I was a little worried after I saw yours, I must admit.” He said. “I’m afraid your crux isn’t completely your own.”

“What do you mean by isn’t my own?” Harry demanded, his teeth gritted. When was he going to catch a break?

“I think that someone is sharing your crux with you. There’s Harry Potter in there, and then there’s someone else. It certainly explains your mental state; I thought you would need to be happier to get better, but apparently it’s the other way around.”

“And this affects my magic how?”

“Well, your magic is unsure whether to serve you or the imposter. I think this is why you felt better when I took it out… I did what to try to get you to cast a spell or two with it out, but apparently not today.” Malfoy explained; standing and rounding the desk to come and lean on Harry’s side of the desk. Malfoy smelled like forest, which was confusing, because what could Malfoy possible be doing that would involve _forests_?

 _Your pulse is quickening,_ Orpheus noted from his sleeve, which Harry adamantly ignored, hoping Malfoy hadn’t heard the hisses. He reminded himself to find a place to keep Orpheus while going to his appointments; it was probably against the rules to keep pets in the hospital, and if Malfoy found out... “But how would I be able to cast spells if the thing that enables me to cast is taken out?” 

“Because while magic is part of your crux, it isn’t all of it.” Malfoy said, his eyes flicking over the neat little rows of books around the room. “That’s why you have a reaction, because there is magic there, it’s just not flowing through properly.”

“So what does that mean for me?” Harry demanded.

“I’m not sure, yet.” Malfoy replied, training his eyes back to Harry’s.

He sighed heavily; no matter what he did or didn’t do, it seemed he was always going to have something that was intent on causing chaos in his life.

“Hey.” Malfoy said, reaching out to touch Harry’s shoulder, sensing his tired resignation. “I’ll figure it out.”

He must have noticed the shocked expression on Harry’s face, because almost as soon as he had laid a hand on him, he withdrew it. Harry cocked his head to one side, truly confused about Malfoy now. And there was something that had been bugging him since the first time he saw Malfoy, so he asked, ‘Malfoy, why aren’t you…” yourself, he was going to say, “mean?”

Malfoy blinked, opened his mouth, and shut it again, but then seemed to decide, yes, he was going to say that. ‘I don’t have anything to hold against you.”

“I sent your father to Azkaban.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed with anger. “He sent himself to Azkaban. Besides, you’re supposed to have a grudge against me; I’m the one who was on the wrong side. I was evil, not you. There’s no reason for me to behave unsavourily towards you, and frankly I’m quite confused as to why you’re accepting this partnership at all.”

"What happened, happened, Malfoy. We all did bad things during the war."

"Some worse than other,” he said shortly, and in that moment, Harry had the oddest sensation. It wasn’t pity, maybe closer to empathy, but if anyone had told Harry years ago that he’d be wanting to take Draco Malfoy into his arms and never let him go, he would have either (depending on his mood) laughed for an hour straight, and then some more, or slapped them. But here he was, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, and tell him he didn’t blame him for anything. That everyone did what they could to survive, and that he should stop hating himself for it. But most people hadn’t rehabilitated themselves after the war, and in spite of Hermione’s opinion, Harry was one of the few who pulled through okay. He still got night-terrors, but he had learnt to deal with them, and no longer thought it was his fault for the death of his loved ones.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had gotten along during school?”

An uncharacteristically loud, open expression floated to the surface of Malfoy’s eyes, and his right hand crept unconsciously up his left arm to wrap his fingers around it. “Every day.”

Silence fell upon them, heavy and thick and awkward, and Harry was surprised when Malfoy continued, “You know, I don’t think anybody thought about what would happen if you didn’t defeat Voldemort. We all expected Harry Potter to save the day, once again, and then we’d be okay again. There was so much blind faith that people had in you, which now I realise was just a mixture of desperation, hope and the helpnessness that comes with being unable to prevent the inevitable."

“When Voldemort killed me,” Harry said softly, “I had a choice not to come back, and I almost took it.” He couldn’t help it when his voice cracked as he whispered, “I just wanted to see my parents again.”

 Malfoy nodded, and was silent, and yet somehow it was the best response. Harry knew he was talking to someone who understood, and that was priceless. “Are you still together with the Weasley girl?" Malfoy asked, changing the subject before they could remember too much and fall into their own respective abysses of repressed memories.

“We broke up.” Harry replied. “After the war, we didn’t really know what to do in terms of a relationship. It worked during that time of crisis, but when it was over, so were any romantic feelings.” He ran his forefinger and thumb along the side of his other hand, massaging the tension out of it. “What about you?”

Malfoy’s jaw set and looked away. “She died.”

“Oh.” Harry’s shoulders dropped, and his fingers stopped massaging. “I’m so sorry.”

Malfoy let out a hard snort. “I’m not.” He said surely, gazing at the other side of the room. “She died giving birth to my son. Never, ever repeat this.” His tone was more serious than usual.

“Malfoy, of course –“

“Promise me.” He grabbed onto Harry’s upper arm, squeezing it tightly.

Harry swallowed thickly. “I promise.”

His grip relaxed and fell to the side of his body. “I’m glad she’s dead. Isn’t that horrible? I’m glad my son doesn’t have a mother.”

Harry waited, at loss for words, because _yes_ , that truly _was_ horrible. His hand slipped into his pocket and fingered the ring there.

“I didn’t want to get married, I never wanted to continue the Malfoy line. No kid deserves to grow up with the disgrace of being a Malfoy on their shoulders.”

“I did notice you didn’t grow your hair out like other widowed Purebloods."

Malfoy’s expression, if possible, hardened more. “I did. But I kept looking in the mirror and seeing _him_.”

Lucius.

Harry’s breath caught. He had never been told or heard stories about the nature of his relationship with his father, but judging by the look on Malfoy’s face, he guessed it wasn’t pleasant.

“And every time you call me _Malfoy_ ,” Malfoy said, spitting his own name, “is just a sick reminder of who I am, who my father is, who I’m supposed to take after. And then I’ll analyse my behaviour, and think, that’s something he’d do, and then I’ll get drunk, and then hate him even more.”

Harry felt like he’d just been allowed access in. In to where, Harry didn’t know, but he got the feeling Malfoy didn’t talk about this often. But what did Malfoy expect to be called: Draco? Harry had never had reason to think of Malfoy as Draco. He swallowed thickly.

Malfoy stared at him. “Can I ask you something, Potter?”

Harry nodded mutely, preparing himself.

“Why did you testify for me at my trials?”

Harry took a sharp breath in. At the time, Harry had asked himself the same question, and so his answer was definite and well thought-over. “You were just doing what you could to survive, like everybody else. You did what you were told, which was safer for you than figuring out some elaborate plan to double-cross Voldemort and your family.”

“Wow,” Malfoy said, and let out a loose, breathy laugh, rubbing his forehead. “How did we start talking about this?”

Harry smiled up at him. “Teddy and your son should meet, you know. They are cousins.”

“Second cousins,” Malfoy corrected. “And I think Scorpius would like that.”

 _Scorpius?_ What kind of name was  _Scorpius_? Harry didn't understand Purebloods. “I think he would too.”

“Oh, Merlin, is that the time?” Malfoy exclaimed suddenly, leaping from his leaning position to pull his socks off and digging around a cabinet at the back of the room to pull out a pair of clean black socks. “I’m almost late!”

“Late for what?”

Malfoy glanced at him, hobbling around on one foot as a struggled to tie up his polished, black dress shoes. “It’s Friday the twenty-first, Potter.”

Harry shrugged, the information meaning nothing to him. “So?”

Malfoy straightened up, looking truly ridiculous in jeans and a sweater and dress shoes. “When specific dates roll around, St. Mungo’s celebrates. I have no clue as to what happened on these days to make them worthy of celebration, but I’m not completely abstemious, so I join in.” He took out his wand just as the doors to his office unlocked, a voice playing through every room, informing them all that the monster had been dealt with, and to enjoy Friday Twenty-First. Malfoy quickly spelled his jeans into more formal pants, and his sweatshirt into a button up, long sleeve (ridiculously tailored) black shirt.

Harry glanced down at his own clothes. “Do I…”

“Do you need to make yourself look like you're not homeless?" Malfoy provided. "No. That’s not a dress requirement of you, but it is of me.” He said, pocketing his wand into the pocket of his pants.

“Thanks.” Harry said, sarcastically. “Why do you need to get all dressed up?”

Malfoy sent him a smug smirk. “You’ll see.”

 

-

 

The ambience of the lounge room was much more festive and ebullient than usual. Decorations had gone up, drinks were being passed around, the couches pillow’s had been fluffed. He had arrived a little late, and the room was already filled with people and the soft bumbling of conversation. Harry bemusedly stood in the middle of it all, holding a Butterbeer (because his tastes never really matured), wondering how on earth people celebrated a Friday Twenty-First, and how often Friday Twenty-first’s must come around.

“Harry!”

Harry turned to the direction of the voice, to see Luna pushing through the crowd to enter the circle of empty space people had left around him. “Hello, Luna.” He smiled, hugging her. “I’m so confused about what this celebration is about.”

“Oh!” Luna said, taking a glass from the waiter who wandered around the room. “The founder of St. Mungo’s was born on Friday 21st.”

Harry hummed and took a sip of his Butterbeer. “Notice how no one comes within an arms length of me?”

“I’m a no-one?” Luna joked, mocking offence. 

“They do say no one is perfect.” Harry said, grinning and tipping his glass to her in mock chivalry.

Suddenly, the noise within the room dropped and everyone began sitting down, and Harry caught a glimpse of a makeshift curtain being pulled skywards. The provisional stage had been cleared of chairs, and in the centre was a grand piano, behind which was seated… Malfoy?

“Luna!” Harry hissed to her, as he followed suit and found himself a chair. “What’s Malfoy doing up there?”

Luna leaned closer to him, whispering into his ear. “Did you not know Malfoy plays piano? He’s been playing for quite a while, now.”

“Okay, but why’s he up there?”

Luna gave him a confused look. “Why, he’s playing, of course.”

Harry resisted to roll his eyes at his friend, and turned his eyes to Malfoy, whose shoulders were relaxed, his fingers placed gently on the white keys. The silence was deafening and Harry glanced around at all others, who were gazing up at him in adulation.

Malfoy took a breath, and his whole body leant into the first chord, and Harry watched little streams of colour emerge from every key he depressed.

Harry gasped. “Luna, can you see that?” He had never seen colour come from sound before.

“See what?” Luna asked.

“The colour!” Harry exclaimed quietly, not wanting to break the trance. “The colour coming out of the piano.”

Luna frowned at him, “there’s no colour, Harry.”

Suddenly, Malfoy lunged into the piece, his fingers flying everywhere as the melody danced into the air. Harry watched as the strong, defined lined of his body moved to the music, swaying with the phrases of the music and jerking his head on the accented climaxes of each phrase. His expression was incredibly focused, his eyebrows knitted as Harry watched in wonderment at how fast Malfoy moved his fingers. The sound sent sharp icicles down Harry’s spine as he felt the music seep into his body and gently draw him away from reality. Malfoy threw his head back, hunching his shoulders and relaxing again with the ebb-and-flow of the music. Suddenly, he let his fingers go and they flew into the air, the last note hanging importantly in the air. Malfoy smiled flagrantly as he looked up, stood up and bowed, to which the audience erupted into applause.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes, or ears for that matter, as Malfoy walked down from the stage to seat himself right next to Harry, as soon as the audience had stopped clapping and dispersed themselves amongst the room once more. “Malfoy,” Harry breathed, too astonished to remind himself not to call him that anymore.

“Draco, my man!” A big, burly man in his late fifties came hustling through the crowd and laid a big, meaty hand down on Malfoy’s thin shoulder. “Well done!”

He tried to take Malfoy into a congratulatory hug, to which Malfoy cringed and managed to put a hand in between them. Harry could almost _hear_ Malfoy thinking: 'it's Healer Maloft, to you, sir.' The man took no notice, and grabbed him side on, squeezing him against his side. “What was that piece? It was truly magical.”

“Rachmaninov.” Malfoy said, removing the man’s arm from around him with a disgusted face. “Not that I would expect you to know who he is. That was his second piano concerto.”

“Could you play at my daughter’s wedding, per chance?”

“Sorry, no.” He declined without a touch of politeness, once again trying to add distance between himself and the ever-advancing man. “I only work for money as a Healer.”

“Oh, I won’t pay you, then!” He said, excitedly. “I think she’d love you, yes, you could play something happy, instead, maybe…”

“With all due respect, sir,” Malfoy said without an ounce of respect in his voice, “I do not play ' _happy_ ' and I would very much appreciate if you were to go to the bathroom and notice the stain right down your shirt and try to remove it; it’s repulsive.”

The man glanced down at himself, and chucked. “Right you are, my boy, right you are. I’ll be back, just give me a moment.”

And with that, the man wobbled out of the lounge and presumably headed into the bathroom. Harry very much suspected that would be the last time he would be referring to Malfoy as a 'boy', if the murderous look in his eyes was anything to go off.

Malfoy turned to Harry, shaking his head and sighing loudly. “Want a drink?” It was more of a command, than a question, as he took two glasses from a table and pushed on into Harry’s hand. Malfoy started gulping down his, and Harry thought the drinks were much more for Malfoy's desires than his own and if he didn't drink it soon it would definetly be drunk for him.

“Malfoy,” Harry started, carefully keeping his eyes away from the way Malfoy's throat worked and bobbed to take down the liquid, “what were all those colours coming out of the piano?”

Malfoy swallowed the last mouthful and chuckled. “You could see them, could you? Apparently not all your magic is gone.”

Harry waited expectantly for a proper answer, but Malfoy only took a sip of his drink under his grin and raised an eyebrow at Harry. “You have to tell me what music you’re into.”

Harry dropped it: it was evident he wasn't going to get a clear answer. “They’re mostly Muggle, I don’t think you would have heard of them.”

“I’ll bet you I have.” He said cockily. Apparently the humongous round of applause Malfoy had received had inflated his ego somewhat.

“Alright then.” Harry accepted, deciding to humour then both. “Frank Sinatra. Dean Martin. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry and Johnny Cash.”

“I know Johnny Cash. Mother listens to him.”

“Really.” Harry said, amused. Now he was getting a mental image of Narcissa Malfoy dancing around at the Manor with a kitten or something else fluffy and vulnerable to Johnny Cash. He’d have to tell Ron and Hermione about this.

Shit. Ron and Hermione. “Oh no, I forgot Quidditch night!” Harry exclaimed.

“Quidditch night?”

“Every Friday night, Teddy and I go over to the Burrow and we all play Quidditch together. I didn’t even tell them I wasn’t going to be there!” Harry said miserably.

“Tell them St. Mungo’s wasn’t letting you go out tonight.” Malfoy offered.

“But I could’ve sent a note, or something!” He rolled his eyes.

“We have a very small Owlery here, if it is that desperate.”

Harry’s hope re-ignited itself. “You do? Can I borrow an owl?”

He nodded and led Harry out of the lounge, and up to the top most floor, which left Harry pretending he was fitter than he was by holding his breath, so not to give Malfoy the pretence he was unfit. Well, he used to be fit. Then he got taken off all of his Auror cases that required any movement what so ever, and was stuck with office jobs because no one trusted him enough to be able to successfully cast spells. Which was fair enough, Harry supposed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to remain spiteful about it.

Malfoy wrenched open a heavy-looking door and walked into the Owlery. Four owls sat, hooting at the intruders, on a railing beside a table adorned with different coloured Quills, ties and brown parchment. Harry promptly picked up a quill and scratched,

_Hey._

_I’m really sorry, I wasn’t allowed to come to the Burrow today because they were keeping me in at St. Mungo’s. I’ll see if I can come next week._

He felt a little bad about lying to his friends, but he supposed they wouldn’t find out.

_I hope Teddy caught the snitch._

_Hugs for all, Harry._

He rolled the parchment up and tied it to a black and white spotted owl’s leg, taking a treat from the treat box and feeding it to it. “Please take this to the Burrow.” Mr. Weasley used to be employed in the Ministry, most owls knew where to find the Burrow, and Harry felt sure that the message would reach there soon.

“Hugs for all, huh,” Malfoy said over his shoulder.

Harry spun around, to find himself in very close proximity to Malfoy. His breath caught. “Some of us like hugs, you know.”

“I can’t imagine how,” Malfoy said, his voice level soft. “I never did.”

“Not all of us are like you, you know.” Harry said back, equally as softly.

“Shame,” he said, the back of his hand brushing Harry’s wrist.

The contact snapped Harry out of it, made him realise just who he was standing incredibly close to. He took a step back, folding his arms over his chest, reviewing the smug looking expression on Malfoy’s face. “Well. Good night.” He said awkwardly, stumbling past Malfoy to heave the door open.

“Good night, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate Luna's representation in this chapter, sorry.


	8. Facing Fear

Harry knew something was wrong that day when Malfoy didn’t open his office door the moment Harry knocked. He listened closely, pressing his ear to the door, and failed to hear any noise inside.

“Malfoy?” Harry called.

He received no reply and was relieved the find the door unlocked when he pushed against it. He scanned his eyes around the eerily empty room, unnerved at how devoid the room was of life when one person was taken from it.

Harry stepped in further to the room, closing the door gently behind him. His suspicions were immediately confirmed when he saw Malfoy slumped in the corner behind his desk, someone else crouched over him.

“Hey!” Harry yelled, racing over to them at a speed to match his heartbeat. “What are you doing?” He reached to grab the attacker’s shoulder, and the man turned quickly, freezing Harry to the spot. The man who was standing over Malfoy was… Malfoy?

“Malfoy?” Harry spoke quietly, scared and unsure, cursing his disability now more than ever. Suddenly, Malfoy blew up before him blew up in black smoke to take another form. Billowing, black robes of a Dementor loomed over him, horrific face hidden beneath the hood. This was the monster from the other day, Harry realised, and it was a Boggart. He thought it had been cleared out! Instinctively, Harry reached for his wand, holding it up to put a barrier between himself and the Boggart. Sweat was pouring down his face, already feeling fear clutching fiercely at his chest.

“Malfoy!” Harry cried to the shivering, small form in the corner of the room. “Malfoy, please, get up now.” He sobbed desperately.

The Boggart stood directly between him and Malfoy, and he glanced at Malfoy’s wand, disbanded on the floor, lying helplessly a meter or two away from him. If he could give him his wand back, then Malfoy could cast a Patronus Charm. Summoning all the bravery he supposedly had, Harry pushed his way around the Boggart, grasping clumsily at the smooth wand and pushing it at Malfoy.

“Malfoy!” Harry screamed again. “Take your wand, this is a Boggart, I can’t get rid of it for us, you have to do this.”

Malfoy’s eyes turned slowly to Harry’s, as if he had all the time in the world and Harry could feel the coldness of the Boggart at his back. “I can’t cast that, Harry.” He said, and it looked like the confession broke him, as he curled up tighter into himself, pressing himself into the wall and began to cry.

A nosy little voice at the back of Harry’s wondered why Malfoy couldn’t cast _Riddikulus_ , but Harry dismissed it immediately. They had to get out of here. He could feel the Boggart strengthening off of their fear, and could feel his own positive emotions rapidly diminishing. Without another second wasted, Harry untangled Malfoy’s body and heaved him off of the ground.

“We’re getting out of here.” Harry told him, supporting all of his weight on his shoulders. “Come with me, okay. Walk with me.”

Harry didn’t know how long Malfoy had been in there with the Boggart, or how emotionally crippled he was right now. He hadn’t ever had to endure the effects of a Boggart for very long, but he had read about it, and Malfoy was showing the exact symptoms of over-exposure.

He didn’t know how he did it, but through some miracle of strength, Harry managed to open the obnoxiously heavy door, feeling an intense hatred for its weight now more than ever, and heaved himself and Malfoy out of it. He dropped Malfoy and Malfoy’s wand to the floor, sliding himself down the wall too, panting.

“Thank you.” Malfoy said breathily, a loopy smile on his face, before passing out.

Harry let his head fall back against the wall, letting his eyes slide over Malfoy. What did he mean; he couldn’t cast that spell? Couldn’t cast _Riddikulus_ against his Boggart – a Boggart that takes the form of _himself_. Harry didn’t quite know what to do with that information, and forced himself not to think about it. He drew himself up, his bones protesting, every inch of him screaming for a rest. He hadn't been in there for as long as Malfoy, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Malfoy must be feeling.

Someone screamed.

Harry turned his head, adrenaline pumping through him; did the Boggart manage to get out of Malfoy’s office? To his relief, it was only another Healer.

“What have you done!” She exclaimed, rushing over the Malfoy and dropping to her knees, pushing Malfoy’s shoulders back so he sat straight against the wall.

“Nothing, Healer!” Harry insisted. “There was a Boggart in there.”

The Healer threw him a sharp look, silencing him efficiently. “The Boggart was banished, Mr. Potter. Do not make up lies.”

Before Harry could protest, she had whipped out her wand and tapped it against Malfoy’s chest, to which a huge ball of red, laced with fiery wisps of yellow and black emerged from.

“Is that his Crux?” Harry asked, astonished. “Why do you need to do that?”

The Healer turned to him sharply. “How do you know about that?”

He swallowed, assuming he wasn't supposed to know. “I read about it.”

“One should only lie if they can do it convincingly.” The woman said. “I know he’s terribly passionate about his work, and incredibly driven, and does a lot of things in the name of his work, regardless as to whether he is allowed to or not.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why _did_ you need to have you Crux taken?”

“I can’t cast spells, Healer.” Harry explained. “I don’t know the specifics.”

“You trust him, then?”

“I suppose.” Harry shrugged.

“ _I suppose_.” The Healer scoffed.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She shook her head. “A Boggart, huh. I truly did think it was gone.”

Harry accepted he wasn't going to receive an apology. “So did I. I turned up for my appointment today and found…” found out that Malfoy’s Boggart is _himself_. Once again, Harry pushed the thought out of his mind.

“He’s been in there for several hours, poor thing. Go get some more Healers, will you?” She said, taking off her glasses and pinching her nose, before putting them back on. “They’ll all be in the café or the lounge. There’s chocolate in the kitchen, for your headache.” The Healer said, as if reading his mind.

Harry nodded again, this time in thanks, and headed off as quickly as his semi-numb legs could go. He made his way to the lounge, hoping there would be Healers in there. He brushed past the people who gave him small polite greetings, rushing down the stairs two by two.

He was relieved to find the Healers there, whose heads bobbed up to see who he was as soon as he entered.

“Harry.” It was Luna, thank god. Someone Harry liked. “You look rather pale.”

“It’s the Boggart.” Harry said, standing with his hand bracing the door, keeping it open. “I found Malfoy with it in his office, and he’s not in a great state.”

 

 

-

 

Harry wandered into the first tier of the western hospital wing, walking right up to bed 102 where Malfoy lay. He stood over him, gazing down at the bruise-like purple blues under his eyes and tousled blonde hair. He looked so unusually small. 

  
"Come to gloat, have you, Potter?" Malfoy croaked, cracking a single tired eye open to peer up at him.

  
Harry smiled gently and sat down on the edge of the bed, Malfoy shuffling over slightly to accommodate him. "Good to see you're still with us."

  
"Concerned, were you?" Malfoy said, propping himself up on the pillows, the paleness of his skin almost blending in with the sheets.

  
Harry snorted softly but didn't deny it, allowing himself the luxury of admiring how small Malfoy's white wrists were, his delicate shoulders and pointed features drowning in the gown he had been given to wear. Here, with his messy hair, tired eyes and arms crossed across his chest, he looked almost normal. "How are you?"

  
Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at him. "You mean aside from the splitting headache, possible bone fracture and general loathing for the world around me? Just peachy, Potter."

  
He laughed and hung his head, noticing that Malfoy was clutching his file to his chest. "You can't be serious."

  
"What?"

  
"My file." Harry said. "You can't be working on that. You're supposed to be resting."

  
"Fat lot of good resting will do me when I know I could be using my time better." He said, clutching it further to his chest.

  
This time it was Harry's turn to raise his eyebrow, plucking the pale yellow folder from Malfoy's arms, despite the protests he was met with. "I'll put this in your desk and you can continue when you're not looking like a first year after his first Quidditch lesson."

  
Malfoy's looked horrified, suddenly patting down at his hair, exclaiming, "it's worse than yours, Potter!"

 

-

 

There was a soft knock at his door, waking him from an unpleasant dream where he watched Malfoy’s Boggart torture him, and not being able to move or do anything about it. Harry glanced at the clock, and noticed it was a lot later than he thought it to be.

“Come in,” Harry said, quickly grabbing a shirt and pulling it over himself.

Athena walked in, looking just a timid as usual. “Hello, Harry.” She said. “I heard about Healer Malfoy.”

Harry gave her a small smile. “Is he okay?”

“They’ve got him fixed up and okay, but he told me not to tell you that he won’t be in today.”

“He told you not to?”

Athena nodded surely, then her certainty fell from her face. “Oh.”

Harry laughed, but nervousness crawled around in the bottom of his stomach. “Do you know where he went?”

“He said he just wanted to stay home today.”

Home. At the Manor. Harry could imagine Draco at the Manor now, surrounded with those tall, unforgiving, unwelcoming walls, needing company. “I supposed he wouldn’t appreciate any visitors?”

“He didn't tell me to tell you not to come.”

“Well, he did tell you not to tell me at all, so I assume that wouldn't be necessary.” Harry sighed. Was the Malfoy Manor part of the Floor Network? Then he remembered his ring. He took it off his finger, and noticed an engraving of a dragon, something he hadn’t noticed before. It spread its tiny wings and flew around the inside of his ring. Disappointment rattled through him when he remembered that it would only take him to 53 places, and that the Malfoy Manor was probably not one of them.

“Is that an Apparition Ring?” Athena asked excitedly.

Harry’s head jerked up hopefully. “Why? Do you know anything about it?”

“Those are very rare, you know.”

Figures, Harry thought. And probably very expensive too, knowing Malfoy.

 _You are worried about something_.

Harry saw Orpheus slithering towards him. In the midst of all the action, Harry had forgotten about him. “I’m really sorry about your dinner, Orpheus.”

Orpheus tipped his head. _I am sorry as well. But I can excuse the mistake, taking recent events into consideration. Besides, this life is far more preferable to the one I was headed for._

Harry extended his arm and felt the smooth, cold scales of Orpheus’s body rest into place, coiling around his wrist.

“So it’s true?” Athena asked. “You’re a Parselmouth?”

Harry nodded, impressed with her lack of fear. Even now, anything that could be related to Voldemort was avoided. Even when it came from Harry Potter himself. “I am. This is Orphues. Don’t tell anyone I have him.”

Athena came closer and peered at Orpheus. “He is very pretty.”

_What is this lady doing so close to me?_

“She’s saying hi.” Harry said.

“She says you’re very pretty.”

Orpheus raised his eyes to meet hers. _She is very pretty also_.

Harry turned to Athena, smiling. “He says you’re very pretty, too.”

Athena smiled, unabashedly. “Thank you, Orpheus.”

“So,” Harry asked nervously, “do you know anything about this?” He gestured to the ring.

She nodded. “Most go to your top 48 places, some go to 53. Did Healer Malfoy give you that?”

“He did.” Harry said, astonished. “How did you know?”

Athena shrugged. “He’s the only one with enough money that I know of to buy something like that.”

It was true. Malfoy’s wealth was enough to rival his own. People threw money at Harry for no reason whatsoever other than breathing. He was given money by charities he wasn’t even affiliated with, just for being able to mention his name during speeches.

“If you wanted to get into the Malfoy Manor, I’ve heard that the new Rings can Apparate to anywhere if you want it bad enough.”

“Really,” Harry asked, interested. He closed his eyes immediately, picturing the Malfoy Manor, honing in on his desire to see Malfoy and to quench his worries about his welfare. He felt it like a religious passion, letting it fill him, and suddenly, to his greatest joy, he felt the sickness of Apparating for the first time.

Slowly, he cracked one eye open, and found himself outside an even bigger door than the one to Malfoy’s office. Of course Malfoy didn’t tell him that it could do that; he probably just didn’t tell him that bit to stop him from going places he didn’t want him to go. Harry lifted the iron door-knocker, and brought it down on the door twice. The creature on the knocker sprung to life, and disappeared into the Manor, walking straight through the door as if it wasn’t even there.

Almost instantaneously, the door was opened by a small house-elf. “The Malfoy Manor is un-occupied today, sir, please be coming back another day.”

The house-elf kept his eyes downcast, his ears drooping sadly. He began to shut the door, before Harry realised what was happening and grabbed the door to wrench it back open.

“Wait! I’m – I’m Harry Potter.” He didn’t know why that should convince the house-elf to let him in, and didn’t know why he said it.

The house-elf lifted his eyes, finally, to Harry’s. Not to his scar. “Sydhe has been given specific instructions that if someone is to be knocking, Sydhe should be telling them that the Manor is being un-occupied.”

“Please, Sydhe.” Harry pleaded. “At least tell me how Draco is.”

“Master Malfoy is Hiding, today, sir.”

“Hiding?”

“Sydhe should not be telling Harry Potter any of this. Sydhe is a _bad servant_.” He began to hit his head against the door, redolent of Dobby's behaviour.

“No, no, don’t do that.” Harry said, taking Sydhe’s hands gently and trying to stop his abuse. “What is Hiding?”

“Sydhe does not know what Master Malfoy does. All Sydhe knows is that Master Malfoy goes to being alone and is very sick in the morning.”

He goes to get drunk. Hiding is getting drunk. “Where is he now?”

“Sydhe cannot let you in, sir is not understanding. Perhaps Sydhe did not make himself clear –“

“I know what you said. I will ensure you are not punished.” Harry said seriously. “Please, just show me where Malfoy is.”

The house-elf whimpered, but scurried inside.

The Manor was large and opulent, yet felt very empty. The air was cold, and Harry felt a shiver running down his spine – _this is where he was imprisoned_. Sydhe led Harry up the right hand stair case, the banister being one silver snake with rococo designs engraved in it, ending in its huge head at the top of the stair case, jaw opened wide, fangs on display.

Harry touched his wrist as Sydhe turned down a hallway as wide as the ones at Hogwarts, and was startled to find Orpheus missing. He must not have Apparated with Harry.

Sydhe came to a stop outside a door. “Master Malfoy’s room, sir.”

Harry wondered what happened to the rules regarding house-elf loyalty, as Sydhe seemed to let Harry in without too much of a fuss. “Thank you, Sydhe.” Harry said, turning the knob of Malfoy’s door.

The door creaked slowly open, to reveal a messy-haired, cadaverous-featured, poorly-dressed Malfoy slouched in a chair. In his hand, he held a glass of a bronze coloured liquid. “I knew you’d come.” Malfoy said, his speech less articulate than usual. Harry clicked the door closed softly and leant against it.

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” He said softly, looking at the man who looked so similar to the one he had just talked to last night and yet so horribly different. What had happened last night that had made Malfoy talk himself into a state Harry didn't know, but it wasn't hard to imagine and he did not like the image in his head of Malfoy lying in that creaky bed, under strict surveillance yet so cold and alone.

“What does it look like?” Malfoy said, taking a gulp.

“It looks like you’re running away from your problems.”

Malfoy looked at Harry under his dishevelled fringe. “That’s me, Draco Malfoy.” He said, gripping his glass harder. “Too much a coward to face anything himself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy.” Harry said.

“My Boggart is _me_ , for fucks sake, Potter.” Malfoy said, slamming the glass heavily on the coffee table in front of him. “How pathetic is that.”

When Malfoy reached for another bottle, Harry rushed to him, prying the glass from his clumsy fingers. Harry squatted down before him, trying to catch his eyes. Malfoy was very stubbornly not looking at him. “Is that what this is about? The Boggart?”

He didn’t confirm, but a little slide of his eyes closer to Harry’s gave him a hint.

“The Boggart wasn’t you.” Harry said. “You didn’t see.” Malfoy didn’t see the cruelty in his eyes, the malicious coldness there, something so purely evil. “Your biggest fear is what you _could_ have been, and that person there wasn’t you. I think that’s an incredibly admirable fear.”

Malfoy sighed, looking down in his glass, and then sighed again to find little left at the bottom of it. He tipped the remnants of his drink into his mouth anyway. “You should have left me in the Fiendfyre.”

Harry recoiled, the confession hitting him right in the chest, his heart clenching painfully. “You don’t mean that.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“No.” Harry said, refusing to believe it, not wanting to believe it. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“Do what?” Malfoy said, finally turning his eyes to meet Harry’s, so large and sad and expressive.

It hurt Harry deeply as he realised that Malfoy was just as human as he, no matter how hard he would try to pretend he didn’t know what emotions were. That he had more regrets than anybody should ever have.

“I hate myself so much, Harry. You wouldn’t even begin to understand.” He was crying silently, tears falling down his stony pale cheeks, emotion rippling through his voice. “You know the thing I said I didn’t want to tell you?”

Harry nodded mutely, staring up at Malfoy.

“Why I was put in St. Mungo’s? I tried to kill myself.” He admitted.

Harry froze; shocked that Draco had once felt so angry with himself that he chose to end his life. He wondered how Malfoy tried, where he did it. Maybe they were sitting in the exact place.

“I tried to kill myself because I had become a Death Eater and there was no escaping that title. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

Then Harry remembered something Sirius said to him, in one of his frequent moments of doubt of himself. “The world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters.” He said softly. “You of all people should know that.”

“I know that.” Malfoy said. “Other people don’t, and will always judge first based on the Mark on my arm rather than my person.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to the exposed flesh of Malfoy’s arm, and sure enough, the accused Mark was there, solid lines reeking of regret. “Malfoy, in the office,” he started, not sure if he should mention this while Malfoy’s inhibition was lost. “You said you can’t cast spells… spells like _Riddikulus_.”

“ _Riddikulus_ was based off _Expecto Patronum_ when it was created, and I can’t cast that.”

“You can’t cast _Expecto Patronum_?” Harry asked, sadness sweeping his entire being. “You never learnt?”

“I never had a strong enough happy memory," he said. "And I’m so terrified that I’m going to be a bad father to Scorpius and that he’s going to grow up the way I did and not have any happy memories of his childhood.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said sternly. “That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“What you’ve been through, what you’ve managed to accomplish, and judging by the level of determination you have not to follow in your father’s footsteps, I’d say Scorpius is pretty lucky to have you.” He said. “People aren’t born evil, it takes a certain upbringing to make them that way, and anyone with a half a brain could see the expectations you have for your son’s happiness.”

Malfoy began to sob, hard, ugly sobs rocking through his body.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, but Harry took Malfoy into his arms, and felt the last of his resistance crumble like sand. It made Harry wonder how often these nights occurred. “Malfoy,” Harry whispered, rising up to sit on the arm of the chair, rubbing his back.

“I’m tired, Potter.”

Harry nodded, standing and helping Malfoy to his unsteady feet. “Careful.” He said, sitting Malfoy down on his bed and untying his shoe laces, pulling off his shoes.

“Harry?” Malfoy said, his frightened tone demanding Harry’s attention. Harry looked up at Malfoy.

“Yeah?”

“Stay with me?”

He blinked, pleasantly surprised at the request. “Okay.”

He climbed on the other side of Malfoy, and trailed his fingers down his side until Malfoy was a malleable puddle next to him, his breathing steady in sleep. Harry laid his head down next to Malfoy's on his soft pillow, embracing him, squeezing him tight and refusing to think about why he never wanted to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys watched Your Lie In April because I just started it today and I've already cried an obscene amount of times.


	9. Compos Mentis

A blanket covered Harry, leaving his shoulders susceptible to the cold air floating around the room. In his arms, Malfoy felt like a little piece of heaven, warm and comfortable. His bony shoulder protruded into the air, and Harry watched it rise and fall in harmony with his breathing, bringing a peace to him he never knew before. Malfoy’s strange woodland smell was masked with alcohol, sweat and sleepiness, yet Harry didn’t seem to mind. Welcome silence hung softly in the air, and Harry listened to Malfoy’s breathing, his body moulded to Harry’s through their blankets. Malfoy’s grip on him was firm and real and grounding and Harry loved it. He refused to acknowledge that this was his supposed enemy that he was cuddling, his fingers trailing light patterns down the ridges of Malfoy’s ribs. Suddenly, Harry felt Malfoy’s body convulse and he then was pushing himself out of Harry’s arms and onto his hands.

He hung his head, breathing laboured, skin seeming even paler in the light falling gently through the windows. His head swivelled unnaturally fast to detect another person beside him, and his eyes narrowed.

“Potter,” Malfoy glared at him. “I see your plain disregard for orders is still intact.”

Harry never thought he'd be glad to be subjected to Malfoy's snarky attitude, but here he was, finding comfort in being criticised. Malfoy cupped his hand over his mouth and ran into a separate room. Not knowing what to do with himself, Harry hesitantly followed Malfoy into a bathroom, to see him throwing up into his own toilet.

“Go get some fucking hangover potion, will you?” Malfoy snapped, his hangover not putting him in a good mood.

Harry shook his head: only Malfoy could maintain his air of superiority whilst leant over a toilet, throwing up. “Where is it?”

“Kitchen down stairs,” he replied, his voice made tinny by the echo of the toilet bowl.

As Harry left, he heard another wretch coming from inside Malfoy’s room, and tried not to flinch. He felt very out of place in his day old Muggle clothes, and frankly a little frightened, walking around in Lucius Malfoy’s home. He could feel his eyes in the walls, watching him with those penetrating grey eyes, screaming at him to _get out of my house_!

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine and he hastened his step somewhat, flying down the stair case. He wondered where Lucius was at the moment, and if he was here, did he know Harry was? The Malfoy Manor was really very beautiful, if not ruthless and ostentatious. The ceilings were tall and the arches to each room were engraved with Latin.

“Who are you?” Came a voice from behind Harry.

Harry spun around quickly, reaching for his wand out of reflex. The sight before him almost shocked him out of his skin; the boy who stood before him looked exactly like the Malfoy Harry remembered when he first saw him. The trademark blonde hair, the chillingly grey eyes, the pole-for-a-spine posture. This had to be Scorpius. Scorpius held a wand out, his hand shaking with fear, defiance clear on his face. It reminded Harry of his first duel with Malfoy so much that he almost wanted to laugh.

“Scorpius, is it?” Harry smiled at him, trying to convey that he didn’t need to have a wand trained at his face. “Hello. I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

Scorpius’ grip on his wand tightened and he straightened his arm further. “ _Fidite nemini_.” He muttered.

At first Harry thought the kid had cast a spell at him, but nothing hit him. The kid couldn’t be a day older than nine, and yet here he was, throwing Harry Latin. Harry suspected Malfoy had a big influence behind that.

“It means, trust no one,” Scorpius said, stepping forward. “How do I know you’re a friend of my dad’s and not someone here to take me away?”

Harry had to admit, he admired Scorpius’ daring. He surely wouldn’t know how to use a wand, he was too young, and yet he held it and was ready to try anyway. “My name is Harry Potter.” Harry told him gently. “I would love to talk to you some more, but I’m afraid your father has told me to get him something from your kitchen, and I fear that I will lose my right hand if I keep him waiting too long.”

Scorpius’ eyes trained to his forehead, and upon spotting his scar, lowered the wand slowly. Finally, he seemed to decide Harry was a friend, not foe, and said, “fine, but I’m coming with you.”

“Well, I do need an escort to the kitchen.” Harry said, smiling down at this little Malfoy. He found it hard to believe that he had been this little once. “Can you show me the way?”

Scorpius nodded slowly and led Harry into another equally enormous room, with the necessary furnishing for Harry to make it out to be a kitchen. “Why are you here?” He asked, as Harry spotted a potions cabinet.

Oh yeah, this kid was a Malfoy alright. “I…” Harry started, filing his eyes over the kitchen friendly potions. “We were just having a chat and it got a little late.” He supposed it wasn’t really a lie.

“Are you trying to find the hangover potion?” Scorpius asked indifferently.

Harry turned, concerned. “Yes…” he frowned, “does this happen often?”

Scorpius shook his head. “No, only when he’s really upset.” He said, approaching with a stool, climbing on top of it. “Grandma doesn’t like it when he does that.”

Scorpius handed Harry a small purple vial, and Harry took it gently. “I don’t suppose she does.” He smiled at Scorpius. “Thank you, young man, but I’d better get back to your father now.”

He nodded briskly, climbing off his stool, behaving far too adult for Harry’s liking.

Harry walked back to Malfoy’s room, vial in hand, Scorpius trailing behind him like a puppy. Harry turned, and waited outside Malfoy’s bedroom. “Can you wait for a bit?” He didn’t think Malfoy would appreciate Harry bringing his son in to see him hung over. Scorpius eyed him suspiciously, but nodded anyway, and Harry opened the door to Malfoy’s bedroom, clicking it softly closed behind him.

He rushed into the bathroom and popped the lid open of the vial.

“Took your time,” Malfoy said as Harry gave him the vial and took his place beside him.

His pale skin, usually so smooth and flawless, was heavy and sweaty, pale and sickly looking. He downed the potion in one gulp, recapped the empty vial and put his head against his arm resting on the toilet. “That damn house-elf shouldn't have let you in.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry said, instantly worried. “Please don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything wrong, he just-“

“I’m not going to hurt him, Potter, how irrational do you think I am?” Malfoy said, throwing daggers at Harry out of the corners of his eyes. “ _He_ didn’t do anything wrong.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

“ _Me?_ What?”

“You would have known, Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice becoming less and less hoarse as the potion took place, “that I do not liked to be disturbed.”

“You were getting drunk.”

“Yes, I am aware of that.” He glowered. “Becoming intoxicated is a private affair, and not something for you to just gallop into whenever you want to, like you do with everything!”

I do _not_ just gallop into whatever I want!” He said indignantly.

“You’re a Gryffindor.” Malfoy snapped, as if it were the ultimate justification for all of Harry's actions. “Yes, you do.”

Harry paused and tried to collect himself. “Your son is outside, keep your voice down.”

This seemed to sober him more than the potion ever did. “Scorpius? Why? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Harry said. “He reminds me a lot of you, you know.”

“Don’t change the subject, Potter.”

“I get it.” Harry said, waving a hand in the air, trying to relax the mood somewhat. “You’re angry at me for saving you from getting even more pissed, and stopping it before it got out of hand and you did something stupid.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m _angry at you_ because you barged into my bloody house even when you were instructed not to, told you things I wouldn’t when sober, and then you proceeded to tuck me into bed like a little defenceless _kid_.”

“Someday,” Harry spat, “you’re just going to have to accept that there are people out there who care about you and want to listen to your emotionally driven irrationalities and _want_ to tuck you into bed and take care of you.”

Malfoy blinked and sighed. “Shut up, Potter. You’re making a fool of yourself.” He drew himself up and off the floor. “Go back to St. Mungo’s. They’re probably wondering where you are.”

 

-

 

It annoyed Harry that he had just said something like that.

He didn’t _care_  for Malfoy, what the hell was that? Well, that was partly untrue, he felt _something_  for Malfoy, but it was closer to the desire to protect than anything else. And even though he did say it, and it was stupid, Malfoy’s reaction made it worse, the obdurate git.  But what seemed to annoy Harry the most, for some completely rational reason, was that Malfoy’s _Floo_ was the nicest he’d used, because wasn’t that just damn _typical_. Bloody Malfoy. He walked into his room and found Orpheus still there, to his relief, curled tightly into a coil on his bed. “Orpheus!” Harry exclaimed. “You’re alright!”

The snake stirred and raised its head out of one of the coils of its body. _I am. Despite the fact that you decided to abandon me_. He tucked his head back into himself again.

Harry bowed his head and sat beside him on the bed. “I’m sorry.”

_You said that last time._

“Shit, I know.” He said. “I really am sorry. I didn’t realise you wouldn’t Apparate with me.”

_Excuses, Mister Harry, excuses._

“I only did it to help someone.” Well, Harry thought, he wasn’t sure whether he’d helped or not, if Malfoy’s anger was anything to judge on.

Orpheus sniffed. _It is okay. I have accepted that I am not your priority._

Harry rolled his eyes. Snakes, every one of them, were just as easily offended as the next. “Fine.”

He made his way to Malfoy’s office, really not wanting to see him again today. That was another thing that annoyed Harry; how damn _clean_ and _perfect_ and _in-order_ everything was with Malfoy and his fastidious habits. He took a seat behind Malfoy’s annoyingly beautiful slab-of-wood-on-legs and took his wand into his hands. He missed feeling the warmth flow through him when he cast a spell. He hated having to do everything manually now, and really couldn’t express his gratitude to Malfoy for giving him the Apparition Ring. He scowled – no, Malfoy annoyed him; Malfoy did not provoke gratitude within him.

Malfoy came in just then, and his eyes locked with Harry’s, and Harry watched as they filled with exasperation. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“Malfoy,” Harry said, annoyed and sick of Malfoy's moodiness, “can you stop being so hot and cold with me, please?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something else, but then someone burst into his office, which only seemed to provoke a more exasperated expression out of Malfoy.

“Mister Potter! Where have you been all night?” A woman stood in the doorway, her shoulders rising and falling, quite noticeably out of breath.

“With me,” Malfoy responded immediately, not taking his eyes off Harry. “I wanted to test something out with him at my home, and I apologize for not notifying anyone beforehand. That was very _irresponsible_ of me.” He said, his eyes narrowing at Harry, and Harry swore he wouldn’t have been able to move if he tried, under that stare. “You may go.”

The woman bustled quickly out of his office, trapping Harry back in with an angry Malfoy.

“What exactly do you mean, hot and cold?” He continued as soon as she left.

“Well, y’know.” Harry said, having lost all of his gumption now that Malfoy was approaching him with a stormy look in his eyes. “I thought we were getting somewhere.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m not hot and cold with you, Potter.”

“Really.” Harry scoffed, finding it hard to believe. “I actually thought you might like me before, and now you’re being all pissy with me.”

“I’m being _pissy_ with you because you defied my wishes, Potter.” Malfoy said. “I would also very much like for you to vacate my chair, so I can sit in it.”

“Then why did you cover for me just then!” Harry asked indignantly. “I don’t understand you.”

Malfoy stared at him, hard. “Well then don’t try to. Now, move.”

Harry did as he was told, figuring it was best to give it up. With a raise of his eyebrow, Malfoy gestured with a careless flick of his wand to the chair on the opposite side of the table and it flew out with an alarming speed to push against the backs of Harry’s knees to make him fall back in to it. “I’ve figured out why you can’t cast spells.”

Well. “Oh.”

“As you know, there are two entities attached to your being. The outside source’s will is more powerful than yours, and your magic keeps getting confused.”

“You’re saying someone wants my magic _more than me_?” Harry asked incredulously.

He raised an eyebrow, “are you questioning my expertise, Potter?”

“No.” Harry let out an aggravated sigh. “I just find it hard to believe that someone wants it more than I do.”

“Well, that’s the way it is.” He said shortly.

“I saw your Crux, the other day.” Harry said suddenly. “You know, when I saved you from the Boggart.”

Malfoy bristled. “Did you now? I suppose this is the time you’re going to tell me it’s all black and reeking of death.”

Harry shook his head. “It was red, actually; with gold. Very Gryffindor, for such a devote Slytherin.”

He deserved the whack of parchment to his face, he supposed.

“Come on.” Malfoy said. “We’re going to try to get your will back.”

 

-

 

The gentle touches of Malfoy’s wand to points on Harry’s body were going to kill him, he swore. Every touch shot sunshine through him, undoing knots he didn’t even know where there. It was kind of like that moment just before a storm, when everything was fresh and clean and expectant, or a still lake reflecting the stars from a clear night sky perfectly. Harry thought he could live in this feeling forever, reeling in pure ecstasy.

“If this is your plan to control me and take over the Ministry to enforce Pureblood Customs, I think it’s going to work.” Harry said, his voice so dazed it barely felt like his own.

He heard Malfoy snort behind him.

“I have no idea how this helps me get my will back,” Harry mused happily, “but I’m not complaining.”

“You will be soon.” Malfoy told him. “It won’t be all sunshine and rainbows for much longer.”

Harry hummed contentedly, unconcerned. “I could teach you to cast a Patronus, you know," he confessed, speaking unguardedly in his dazed state.

Malfoy’s wand twitched on the spot above his collar-bone. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t even cast spells yourself.”

Harry began to laugh. “Yeah, but you’re helping me with that. I can help you with your Patronus.”

“You don’t need to repay me for helping you, Potter.” Malfoy said. “It’s my job.”

“Would you like me to, though?” Harry said, tilting his head up to get a view of Malfoy’s expression. He was focused firmly on the movements of his wand, as it glided to the middle of his chest.

Whether Harry was given an answer or not, he didn’t know, as sharp hot pain coursed through his body from the point on his chest Malfoy had his wand pressed against. He let out a screech, and his loopy smile was distorted into an expression of agony, struggling to resist the urge to rip Malfoy’s wand off his chest. “What’s happening?” Harry managed to get out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“This is the ‘won’t be sunshine and rainbows for much longer’ part.” Malfoy replied. “I know it’s painful. I’m sorry.”

It was about the third time Harry had heard that word escape Malfoy’s lips now, and yet he still wasn’t used to it. “You could have warned me, you git.” He pushed the words out.

"And risk the pleasure of inflicting minor torture on you? Please." He took his wand off Harry’s chest, and the pain released immediately, leaving Harry panting and sweaty. “Ready?” Malfoy asked, training his wand back at Harry.

Harry screwed his eyes tighter still and swallowed, not wanting to think about what could possibly come next. _No._ He nodded.

“ _Compos mentis._ ”

As soon as the spell was spoken, Harry felt the intruder. He felt his magic spike, and stir inside of him. His eyes flew open. “Malfoy.” He breathed. “I can feel it.”

“Your magic?”

Harry nodded fervently.

“Good.” Malfoy said. “Listen to my voice to ground yourself. You don’t want to get lost in there.”

“Okay.” He couldn’t say much, in awe of the huge feeling of his magic awaken inside of him, how did he ever not feel this before?

“Can you feel someone else in there with you?”

He nodded again. It wasn’t so much as someone else holding it; it was more someone else on the other side of a wide ocean, just standing there. Waiting.

“On the count of three, I’m going to cast another spell and I’ll pull you, and you’ll pull at your magic. Okay?”

“Go.” Harry told him, ready.

“One.”

Malfoy raised his arm.

“Two.”

Harry gripped the cushions under him.

“Three.”

Harry pulled. At first, it was like his fingers were falling through water, grasping at nothing, but then he felt Malfoy’s spell hit him, and the water became solid. The resistance was more than he expected and could hear his screams, so faintly, as if he was underwater. Someone was digging their nails into Harry’s magic, grasping it tighter to their chest, and it _hurt._  It’s _mine,_  Harry thought, trying to focus on pulling the sea of magic towards him instead of the anguish stabbing at him. _I’m not letting anything more being taken from me_.

“Harry. Pull harder. You’ve just got to pull a little harder.” Malfoy’s voice was in his head, and Harry grabbed on to it immediately, not caring if it would hurt him or not; he needed an anchor.

He felt something tearing inside of him. _Mine_.

“That’s it.”

Harry took a tighter hold of Malfoy’s voice, letting Malfoy’s magic run through him, pour into him, and with one last exhausted tug, Harry pulled his magic towards him and it hit him like a pile of bricks. He felt Malfoy’s magic withdraw from him, and Harry clutched his chest and passed out.

 

-

 

The first thing he noticed was that it had grown significantly darker outside. "What?" Harry said to himself, confused. "How long was I...?"

"An hour."

" _An hour?"_ Harry repeated. "It only felt like a moment."

"Which is exactly why you don't want to get lost in there; time works differently when you're visiting your magic."

“Did it work?” Harry asked quickly, excited

“I think so.” Malfoy said, picking up Harry’s wand from the floor where it dropped from his writhing and gave it to him. “Give it a try.”

Harry took his wand back into his hand, feeling its buzz. “ _Accio_  Malfoy’s coat.” To Harry’s surprise, the coat flew obediently through the air and hit Harry’s unsuspecting face, the button narrowly missing his eye. “Oh!” Harry exclaimed, overjoyed. “You did it!” He leaped up from the table, about to hug him, to find Malfoy staring at him, his grey eyes softly studying him.

“Sorry.” Harry said awkwardly. “I forgot you don’t like hugs.”

A spark of amusement lit in his eyes. “Don’t celebrate too soon, Potter. Try _Incendio_.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. Something unusual, apparently.”

Harry pointed his wand at the flowers in the vase of Malfoy’s conservatory. “ _Incendio_!”

He felt it immediately. Hot, searing pain shot through his wand hand. Harry swore, and dropped his wand, shaking his hand. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you, you sadistic shit!”

“Really, I didn’t.” Malfoy said. “What happened?”

“It was like someone _Incendio-d_ my hand.” Harry said, staring at his hand in wonder. “So why can I _Accio_ and not feel anything?”

Malfoy shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Maybe you get a reaction on the destructive spells. I had a feeling you would.”

“ _Confringo_!” Harry grabbed his wand, pointing it at the vase, and golden sparks flew out of his wand like fireworks instead of the vase bursting apart like it should have. He swore, louder this time, as pain jolted up his wrist, twisting maliciously. Whilst Harry was hopping around clutching at his wrist, and Malfoy had trapped the hot sparks from landing on his furniture and was yelling at Harry about what could have happened if _Confringo_ was successfully cast, to which Harry exclaimed  _you told me to_!, Ron had walked in.

“Harry,” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. “What are you –“ his words stopped upon seeing Malfoy.

Harry admitted; it must have been a strange sight for his friend to walk in on. “Ron!” He greeted him friendly; trying to silently tell him that _Malfoy’s good, please do not attack_. “You want to see what I can do now?” He lifted his wand, and pointed it at Ron. “ _Accio_!” He swooped his wand, and was prepared to catch it this time as Ron’s hat flew his way.

“Well done.” Ron’s compliment was empty, his eyes focused on Malfoy still.

“Weasley.” Malfoy’s greeting was devoid of warmth. “Why are you visiting?”

“I just came to see my friend, Malfoy.” Ron said, voice full of venom.

Harry swore if he wasn’t in the room, the two would be on each other already. While neither Ron nor himself were level-headed, Ron even less so than Harry, and Harry knew he still harboured sour feelings towards Malfoy.

“That’s nice.” Malfoy said, his tone clipped. “Next time, knock.”

“Harry, why didn’t you tell me _he_ was your Healer?” Ron said, turning to Harry, anger colouring his face red.

“Because,” Harry told him, “I knew you’d act as unfairly towards him as you are now, and he has done nothing to warrant that.”

“Done nothing?” He repeated, astounded. “Have you forgotten how he fought on _Voldemort’s_ side? Or do I need to remind you?”

“Have you forgotten not to judge people before you know their full story?” Harry shot back.

Ron flicked his eyes between Malfoy and Harry and back again. He swallowed.

“Go, Potter.” Malfoy said quietly. “There’s not much more I can do today.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Malfoy. I’ll see you soon.”

 

-

 

“You’re mad.” Ron said, shaking his head. “You’re utterly mad.”

Probably, Harry thought, opening his door.

_Ah, he returns. With yet another friend to replace me._

“Come off it, Orpheus, I said I was sorry.” Harry said back to him.

_Something sir says often._

“And you’ve got yourself a snake?” Ron exclaimed. “You’re completely mental; is that even allowed?”

Harry shrugged. “Probably not. He’s not talking to me, anyway.”

“Why?”

“He’s a snake.” Harry said, as if it was a justification, which it was, really. Snake’s egos were bigger than Hippogriff’s, sometimes. “And before you ask, no I’m not going to talk to you about Malfoy. He’s my Healer, and he’s changed.”

“Changed?” Ron asked, disbelieving.

“Well, okay, he’s still pretty much the same; he’s just not evil anymore, yeah?” He didn’t want to talk about Malfoy with Ron, so he quickly decided to change the subject. “Why’re you here?”

Ron fell to Harry’s bed, wearing a forlorn look on his face and his protests regarding Malfoy dropped. “Hermione isn’t talking to me.”

Harry took a seat on his bed beside Ron. “Why?”

“She wants to move out of the Burrow, but we’ve lived there all our lives. I don’t want to leave my family, but Hermione says she wants a place for us and the kids.”

If there was anything to be said for Ron, it was his incredible, unyielding loyalty to his family. Harry could see how this would frustrate Hermione. “You really don’t want to move, even when it puts your relationship at risk?”

“Well I figured that our relationship is more important than a house, and she should realise that.”

Harry gave him a look. He loved Ron, really, but sometimes he was so ignorant. “She wants to start a life with _you_ , not just continue your family. Besides, how many people live at the Burrow now, now that Teddy’s living there while I’m in here?”

“She never made a single complaint about it before!” He wailed.

“Maybe she thought she could just get through it.”

Ron huffed. “Well where’s Teddy going to go, then?”

“She doesn’t mean right this _second_ , you idiot.” Harry said. “What’s so wrong with moving out of the Burrow?”

Ron buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

Harry did. Ron was scared. He’d lived there all of his life, with his family, the people he relied on more than anyone else. They all harboured fiery, intense love for each other, and were extremely passionate about family. It was a bit later than most, Harry admitted, but this was the time Ron needed to ‘flee the nest’ and it terrified him.

“Well, what happened when Bill went to go live with Fleur?”

Ron glanced up at Harry through his fingers, and reluctantly told him, “nothing.”

“And when Charlie left? He managed it okay too, didn’t he?”

Ron didn’t answer.

“Have you and Hermione even talked about your two different sides of the story?” Harry asked.

Once again, Ron didn’t answer.

“You’re hopeless.” Harry laughed. “I’m sure talking to Hermione would be much more constructive than talking to me.”

“She’s ignoring me, Harry!” Ron insisted.

“She won’t if you tell her you want to talk, she’s Hermione; she won’t be able to resist getting the opportunity to get her opinion in.”

“Why is that everyone’s advice – just talk to her?”

Harry shrugged. “Usually works best.”

He nodded, absent-mindedly. “So Malfoy’s got you casting spells again, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about him with y-“

“No,” Ron stopped Harry, “if you say he’s okay, I believe you. Sorry for being a dick about it before, I was just shocked. I’m glad you’re getting better.”

Harry blinked in surprise. Then he felt guilty for feeling surprised. Ron was Harry’s friend, and Harry knew him to be impulsive, jealous and quick to judge, (much like himself actually), but he wasn’t an asshole. “Thanks Ron.” He said, sincerely. “That’s… that’s really good of you.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m not a total git, Harry.”

“I suppose not. Now go convince Hermione of that.”

 

-

 

“No, you’re coming with me.” Harry told Orpheus, who was most indignantly trying to ignore Harry’s attempts to pick him up.

_No, I’m not. Go back to your freckled friend._

“What’s it going to take?” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. “I’m sorry, Orpheus.”

Orpheus’ head poked out from behind the dresser. _What’s it going to take?_

Oh, Harry thought, now he understood why the Slytherin mascot was a snake.

 _I may have an idea_ _._

 

-

 

“You could of asked for world domination or something, Orpheus, not raw meat.” Harry said, placing Orpheus down on a bench of the deserted kitchen.

Orpheus cocked his head. _Well, I was going to ask for that, but I figured you wouldn't say yes, and this was second best._

Harry laughed. “That’s probably true.”

“Potter, you do know you’re not allowed to keep animals while staying at St. Mungo’s?”

Harry turned around, startled, to see a particularly smug looking blonde leaning against one of the benches. He had stripped himself of his robes, and was wearing a white button down shirt with jeans. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing Malfoy in Muggle clothes. “Malfoy. Why are you in here?”

His arms were crossed as he approached them, his irritating air of confidence surrounding him. “That’s a nice Hognose you have there.”

_You’re replacing me! Again!_

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not replacing you. This is Draco Malfoy, he’s helping me get better.”

_You are sick?_

“Not conventionally.” Harry replied, and turned to Malfoy. “Please don’t tell anyone about him. He was rescued from the Animal Trials, and no one was taking him. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

He smiled softly. “Of course I won’t. He’s very pretty. What’s his name?”

“Orpheus.” Harry replied, as Malfoy reached under Orpheus’ chin to stroke the rubbery scales there.

 _Oh, I like that._ Orpheus said, tilting his head higher to give Malfoy better access.

Malfoy chuckled at Orpheus’ antics.

“He’s being a git, don’t pleasure him.” Harry said, slapping Malfoy’s hand away from Orpheus.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because I Apparated without him, as if that was even my choice.”

Malfoy smirked. “I should’ve known you would have figured out that the ring can Apparate you anywhere if you wish it hard enough.”

_I like him better than you._

Harry rolled his eyes again. “I’m the one preparing your dinner, careful what you say.”

_You’re only doing that so I can supposedly forgive you for abandoning me and you can feel better about yourself._

“The attitude on this one,” Harry marvelled to himself, as he dug around for the meat, but then remembered with glee that he could _accio_ now. “ _Accio_ meat!”

“What’s he saying?” Malfoy asked.

“Nothing,” Harry replied quickly. Malfoy’s ego was big enough at the moment. “Here’s your raw meat, you stupid creature.” He said, not bothering to slip into Parseltongue.

 _Ah_. Was all Orpheus had to say, and began to viciously attack the pieces of meat in front of him.

“You’re so affectionate, Harry.” Malfoy said sarcastically.

Harry turned around, to see Malfoy splitting tomatoes, cucumber and tearing pieces of lettuce with flicks of his wand. His sleeves were pushed up, and Harry was confused to see a flash of something on his left arm.

Malfoy noticed, scowled and pushed his sleeves back up, thinking Harry was staring at his Dark Mark. “No need to leer, Potter.”

“No,” Harry said softly, “not that.” He reached for Malfoy’s arm again, and was quietly pleased when Malfoy didn’t pull away from him. He pushed the sleeve back up again, and the splash of colour was there again. It was a little panther, padding its way over Malfoy’s skin. How hadn’t he seen this before? “What’s this?” He asked, running his finger over the panther, and chuckled when it turned its head to look at Harry.

“Tattoo,” he replied. “I got it a few years back.”

Harry grinned as the image of oh-so-dignified Draco Malfoy getting a tattoo (and probably being a total baby about it) filled his mind. “My animagus form is a panther.”

Malfoy blinked. “You’re an animagus?”

Harry nodded. He wanted one of these tattoos.

Malfoy resumed flicking his wand at foods, and they flew into a bowl just in front of him. The panther on his arm streaked up his skin and hid under his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Making us dinner, of course,” Malfoy replied.

“Um,” Harry said. Malfoy never ceased to surprise him. “Okay. Would you like help?”

“No. You’ll mess it up.”

“How can you mess up salad?” Harry asked, amused, leaning against the bench opposite the one Malfoy was perched on. “Especially when you’re not doing it the Muggle way.”

“I choose not to underestimate you, Potter, when it comes to messing things up. Anway, just because you’re angry about not being able to use your magic, doesn’t mean I’ll stop using mine.” Malfoy said, letting his eyes slide to Harry’s under his eyelashes.

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Harry said, incredibly joyous that he could do that now. Malfoy’s wand flew out of his hand and into Harry’s, which Harry caught, grinning.

Malfoy didn’t miss a beat. He continued slicing the vegetables and levitating them across the room into the bowl, wandlessly. “Potter, you asked me before,” he paused, “whether I’d like you to teach me how to cast a Patronus charm.”

Harry caught one of the olives flying his way and put it between his teeth. “Yeah?”

Malfoy stopped flicking his hand at the food and turned his eyes to Harry’s. “I really would.”

“Great!” Harry exclaimed, leaping from his slouched position, enthusiasm straightening his posture. He knocked over two pots in the process. “When shall we start?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and sent a piece of avocado flying into his face. “Calm down.”

Harry sobered. It was probably a big deal for Malfoy to ask for help, and Harry figured Malfoy might not want Harry to make a scene out of it. “Sorry,” he said, crouching to pick up the pots. “When do you want to do it?”

“Well, actually,” Malfoy said, a hint of excitement encasing his tone, “I was hoping we could start tomorrow.”

Harry smiled, putting the pots back into place. He felt Malfoy’s judging eyes on him as if to say _straighter, Potter_ , and made sure to align the handles perfectly with the lines of the wood. “Can we eat, then?”

Malfoy nodded and _accio_ ’d two bowls from a cupboard, ladling the salad into them. The kitchen wasn’t so lonely with Orpheus silently finishing the meat Harry had threw down in front of him, and Harry’s clumsy (on in comparison to Malfoy’s) eating habits.

“What are we going to do next about my magic?” Harry said through a mouthful of food.

Malfoy threw him a look and swallowed, placing his fork down carefully. Only he could make such a simple gesture appear elegant. “Don’t talk with your mouth open, you plebeian.”

Harry gave him a toothy smile, mouth still full of food.

Malfoy grimaced. “I’m not sure, actually. We need to sever the link between whoever’s got your magic, and your magic.”

“Shouldn’t we find this guy… and stop him?”

“That’s what Aurors are for.” Malfoy said, picking up more food on his fork. “But I wouldn’t suggest that. Aurors are all the same.”

“Oh?” Harry cocked his head, amused. “How so?”

“Damn charlatans, every one of them.”

“Are you calling me a charlatan?” Harry asked, unsure whether to be offended or not.

“Well, Aurors have one objective: get in the scene and get rid of the problem.” Malfoy explained. “They don’t think about what might happen if they do that – it’s like when you take the flowers from a Grimsighott tree: sure it’ll get rid of the stench, but have you seen what happens when you take the flowers from the Grimsighott when they’re not ready to be taken? The thing turns feral.”

“So,” Harry said coyly, “what you’re saying is that all Aurors are Gryffindors.”

“Well, name one notable Auror who wasn’t a Gryffindor.” Malfoy said, his eyes alight with amusement.

“Tonks was a Hufflepuff.” Harry shot immediately. “And are you saying in order to be a successful Auror, you need to be a Gryffindor?”

Malfoy fell silent, then laughed, his head thrown back, face stretched with happiness. “I certainly made it sound like it, didn’t I?”

Harry smugly took another forkful of salad to his mouth. He liked it when Malfoy was happy. “You did."

 

-

 

Harry couldn’t help thinking about the unguarded warmth in Malfoy’s eyes while they were sitting on the benches like two old friends, eating a salad that Malfoy made for the both of them.

 _Now you’re happy._ Orpheus said from around his wrist as Malfoy walked him back to his room. _Because I’m not ignoring you anymore._

Harry smiled to himself; that wasn’t the reason he was happy. A stupid, contented smile pulled his lips back. “Good to know your mood was so superficial it could be fixed with food.”

_Anything can be fixed with food._

“What’s he saying?” Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up into his eyes and couldn’t help smiling again. “He says that ‘anything can be fixed with food.’"

“I’ll take his word for that one.” Malfoy agreed, and stopped so suddenly that Harry almost collided with him. Why was it that Malfoy’s personality became more and more bearable the later it got? He opened his door and stepped inside. “You going to Floo yourself home?”

“Once you give me back my wand.” Malfoy said, slipping a hand from his jeans pocket to wait expectantly in front of Harry.

“Oh.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out the sleek Rowan wood, running his thumb over the handle. “Sorry.”

His pale, slender fingers snagged the wand and pocketed it.

“Okay, well, good night.” Harry said, reaching for the knob to close the door.

“Wait.” Malfoy said, and Harry’s fingers fell from the knob so quickly it was almost like he had been burnt. “What?”

“You are right, about me being hot and cold,” Malfoy said. “I am grateful that you came last night, and I much prefer waking up to someone helping me rather than having to do it alone.”

Harry smiled tiredly at Malfoy, a growing sense of affection blooming in his chest. “To be fair, you had the right to be angry.”

“I wasn’t angry.” He corrected Harry. “Mostly frustrated that you literally haven’t changed one bit since school.”

“Oh.” Harry said, unsure of how to respond to that. “Sorry?”

He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s not a bad thing.” He glanced down at the Muggle watch on his wrist. “Merlin, I’d better go. It’s almost Scorpius’ bedtime.”

“You’d better go then, Scorpius has to be in top notch condition to point wands at innocent intruders and scare them with their Latin prowess.”

A look of utter confusion flew over Malfoy’s face. “What?”

Harry laughed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Potter.”

“Night, Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when you realise you're graduating in three years and all you've done is read gay fanfic your whole life and you have zero study skills.


	10. Dragons and Chimeras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm sorry for the late update, so I've doubled the length, seeing as I doubled the time I usually update. I accidentally deleted the whole chapter and I had to re-write all of it...  
> Anyway. Enjoy :)

Harry’s hand hovered inches above Malfoy’s office door, hesitation holding it back as Harry heard a familiar melody waft through the door. Excitement filled him and a grin pulled his lips back. He wrenched the door open, to see Malfoy draped elegantly over his desk chair.

“You’re singing Frank Sinatra!”

His eyes snapped to Harry, and his humming halted abruptly. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” Harry exclaimed eagerly. “That’s my favourite song that he sings.” A childlike sense of delight filled him. Harry was already excited by being promised he could teach Malfoy to cast a Patronus charm, and the fact that his snake was curled around his wrist once more, and now Malfoy was humming Harry’s favourite song.

“I have something for you.” Malfoy said, standing and ignoring Harry’s delectation and retrieving something from the chest of drawers at the back of the room. “But I’m not sure you’re going to appreciate it.”

“What is it?” Harry asked as Malfoy gave him a vial of sluggish, bottom-of-a-pond green vial of liquid.

“A burn the house to get rid of the mouse tactic,” he said frankly, taking a seat and gesturing for Harry to do the same. “Whoever’s on the other side of this is clearly experience with old dark magic, and we’re not going to win if we take conventional approaches.”

“What does it do?” Harry asked, turning it over in his fingers, almost gagging when the little bits in it turned as well, taunting him with their vileness.

“It ejects your Crux.”

The feeling of contentedness was rapidly dimishing. “Why do I get the feeling this won’t be easy?”

“It won’t be.” Malfoy stated bluntly. “It will be the worst imaginable pain you’ve ever felt in your life.”

The vial in his hand felt colder than before, weighing heavy in his hand with the weight of its injuriousness. He gripped it harder, swallowing his doubts. He’d let himself be killed by Voldemort without any idea of what would come after that, so he told himself that this was nothing.

“If you choose to take it, you have fifty two hours before the effects take place.” Malfoy said. “It can be reversed within that time if you change your mind, but once it begins, there’s no going back.”

“And then?”

“Once your Crux is ejected, you’ll have to fight for it with the other person holding it. You’ll feel it, but so will they, and they won’t have anyone helping them.”

“And if I lose?”

“You won’t. You’ll have over half the Healers dying to be there to help you.” He said, a trace of bitterness laced in his tone.

“But if I do?” Harry insisted.

“Which you _won’t_ ," Malfoy stressed, "but if that were to happen, it wouldn’t return.”

Somehow Harry knew that would be the answer, but he wanted to hear it anyway. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like knowing he’d never been able to practise magic again. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen if this disease he had was not cured, how depressed he would be. But Harry trusted Malfoy’s expertise, and he supposed that Malfoy wasn’t just given the title of ‘best Healer at St. Mungo’s’ according to Hermione, without any credit. “I see.”

“You don’t have to do it, but this is the only way you’re going to get rid of the problem.”

“No,” Harry found himself nodding. “I want to do it.” Being an Auror was probably the most exciting part of his life, and he missed that chased down his spine that came with his job, or the gratitude in the eyes of the people he helped. Harry wanted to prove that he could live up to the talk of his greatness. He wanted that recognition back and was prepared to do whatever it took.

“Great.” Malfoy said, followed by a muttered, “Eston will be happy to hear that.”

“Huh?”

Malfoy scowled. “Healer Eston likes you – can’t imagine why. Every meeting St. Mungos has, he feels the need to interrogate me as to how you are and how your progress is going. I’m never going to have him shut up now that he’s going to get a chance to meet you.”

“Oh?” Harry said, amused. He was keen to meet this fellow now.

“Drink the potion, then.” Malfoy said, silencing his words before he continued feeding into Harry’s ego.

He stared at the vial, still astounded that such a seemingly innocent looking thing could have such disastrous effects. Harry popped the cork lid from the vial and refused to look at it, pouring the contents quickly down his mouth. He spluttered. It tasted like seaweed and dirt and carpet cleaner and it felt wrong in his stomach.

“Okay?”

Harry nodded, grimacing, “yeah.” Then he forced himself to put the inevitable banishing of his magic out of his mind and straightened up a bit, smiling. “Do you want to do your Patronus now?”

 

-

 

Malfoy and Harry had raced down to the mini broom shed, which was small enough to be classified as a cupboard. A piece of thin galvanised iron sheet hung off a hook in the door, looking far too rustic for such a sterile place. Engraved in it with thick black letters, the plaque read: _THE BROOM ROOM_. Harry chuckled to himself at the stupid name and twisted the handle open to reveal five brooms leaning, tail down, against the wall. The room smelt of a woodier version of old books, and he inhaled it deeply. Malfoy swept past him, snatching up a yellowish-brown broom before Harry stepped into the room.

“You would have thought they were Muggles, the way they leave these here.” Malfoy scorned, straightening the stiff bristles. “Honestly.”

Harry silently agreed, cringing at the way the tails bent, more severe than any other brooms he had seen before. The room was dustier once he was a few steps inside, and Harry’s nose complained strongly as he sneezed loudly. “Orpheus,” he said, pulling his sleeve up to see Orpheus sleeping around his wrist. Orpheus apparently could never have enough sleep. “I’m going to lose you if you come with me, do you want to make a nest for yourself here? I’ll get you as soon as I come back.”

Orpheus’ head unravelled from his wrist and raised his head to stare at Malfoy. _Corn-head is back_.

“Corn head?” Harry laughed. He did suppose Malfoy’s hair resembled corn silk rather well. “That’s inventive.”

 _You seem to like Corn-head._ Orpheus said, slipping from his wrist and onto one of the dusty book shelves, curling into a coil and resting his head back on top of himself. _I like Corn-head, too, I think. When he’s not talking. His manner of speaking is off putting."_

“You don’t like his accent?” Harry asked, wiping the shelf clean with his sleeve. He had grown used to Malfoy's pretentious drawl, and come to be a little fond of it. 

 _Is that what it is called?_ Orpheus’ eyes glazed over, giving that eerily vacant look to his eyes that indicated his sleep.

Harry hit his wrist against his leg, loosening the dust on his sleeve, and took the least offensively-bent broom off the wall, doing his best to copy Malfoy’s actions and straighten out the barbs. They both straightened at the same time, and locked eyes. Harry grinned, mounted his broom and flew out of the broom cupboard into the hallway of St. Mungo’s.

“No flying in the hallways, Potter!” Malfoy yelled, emerging from within the cupboard, broom in hand.

Harry hovered in the air, letting go of the broom and waving his hands in the air. “Look Malfoy, no hands.”

“You sound like my son,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “Get down from there, you’re not allowed to fly in the corridors.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.” Harry challenged, excitement coursing through him when Malfoy finally mounted his broom as well and flew up to level with Harry, his eyes locking with Harry’s, intentions of competition written all over them. “You chose the wrong broom for that, I’m afraid.” Malfoy said, glancing down at the handle.

Harry glanced down, noticing the faded gold inscription of the student-level brand and the crack that ran right down the middle of the handle. He glanced back up at Malfoy to make a remark, but he wasn’t there any more. Instead he was speeding halfway down the hallway. “Hey!” Harry yelled, grabbing hold on the knobbly handle with two firm hands and racing after Malfoy. “You cheater!”

“There are no rules, therefore no rules to break.” Malfoy yelled over his shoulder, dipping out of one particularly large window.

“Slytherins,” Harry muttered to himself, sailing unsteadily through the air and out the window after Malfoy. The warm outside air hit his face as soon as he shot out of the window, the natural perfume nature wore lifting his spirits. St. Mungo’s used too many cooling charms, Harry decided.

“I don’t know how you thought you would beat me; you don’t even know where we’re going.” Malfoy said, flying up behind him and stopping beside him.

His hair was galloping around his pointy features in the breeze, his robes vanished to reveal a simple grey v-neck t-shirt and blue jeans. Harry wondered how they had got here: hovering over St. Mungo’s in friendly competition, bantering between themselves. Harry thought he should hate Malfoy – he had cursed his school life and fought alongside Voldemort – but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to feel any such sort of hatred towards him. He gave up on trying to make himself hate Malfoy a long time ago.

“You look weird in Muggle clothes.” Harry said, his filter having apparently fallen out on the ride to the top of the trees. It was a different angle, Harry had never seen what these trees looked like from above. They were flat, stemming outwards and not nearly as attractive from up close, on the ground. From up here, Harry couldn’t see the small pink flowers, and frankly the trees just looked very ordinary, the branches splaying outwards along one part down the middle.

Malfoy looked mildly offended. “Oh?” He said, patting himself down self-consciously.

“No, it’s not bad.” Harry rushed to explain himself.  _Definitely not bad_. “I’m just not used to it.”

“I’m glad that unsightly shade of green is your version of normal to associate with me, Potter.” He said, referring to his Healer's robes.

Harry laughed, straightening his glasses. “So where are we going?”

Malfoy turned his broom around, facing away from St. Mungo’s now, to a particularly tall tree off in the distance. “There’s a pretty lake over by that tree.” The sun made his outstretched arm look paler than usual, the milky whiteness of his skin almost glowing unicorn-white, making the grey of shit shirt appear almost black in comparison.

“Going for a scenic tour, are we?”

“Why not?” Malfoy said, zooming off again in the direction of the tree.

Harry grinned, refusing to deny the challenge. He pressed his body closer to the broom, chasing after Malfoy. Drawing neck to neck with him, Harry leant closer to him, knocking him off his course slightly and pressing on faster towards the tree. The wind caught Malfoy’s indignant protest, carrying it to Harry, and he grinned. Harry looped in the air a tight circle, just to show off, knowing that Malfoy could see him. He pulled out of his twist, searching for Malfoy’s ever exasperated face, and startled so slightly to see Malfoy had caught up again, his hair flattened against his head as he plummeted into the wind with Harry. Malfoy’s lips were pulled back into a genuine smile, and he crouched closer to his broom, his lean arms clutching the broom handle with determination. They were so close that their shoulders were pressed against each other, flying without any attention to technique, completely unbothered to how reckless their flying must appear to a bystander. Harry briefly wondered how Malfoy managed to make every action look so graceful, his ankles locked neatly around the shaft of the broom, leaning with Harry around the curves of the wind.

Suddenly, Malfoy dropped head first into a dive and Harry clumsily followed him, plunging into the steep decline. Cold wind batted strongly against his face, drying his eyes. His chest was screaming, like his ribs were two sizes too small for his lungs, exhilaration racing through him. He pulled out of the dive earlier than Malfoy to hover over a beautiful grey lake. Harry couldn’t see how deep it was, but he could see small fish swimming beneath him, the sea ferns tickling a depth of the water Harry could just make out. The warm hum of creatures Harry couldn’t see surrounded him and he was just about to dip lower to trail his hand through the water before someone raced beneath him, casting a thin line through the water with his shoe, scattering the fish. Harry glanced up to see Malfoy performing a very extravagant landing, casting his broom to one side and throwing his arms out to both sides dramatically.

“Now who’s behaving like your son?” Harry chuckled, flying over the where Malfoy stood with his eyes shut, dismounting his broom.

Malfoy’s arms dropped to his sides and his eyes opened. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Harry would have assumed Malfoy’s tastes tended towards Victorian architecture, or polished silver, or grand marble staircases, not something so primitive, so natural and  _basic_. “Yeah,” Harry agreed, staring at Malfoy in wonderment. “It is.” This gentler side of Malfoy was completely unexpected, and frankly strange, to see a man who he would usually classify as a hidebound, patronizing, unlikeable git, becoming more and more of an enigma. Harry’s opinion on Malfoy seemed to be changing, and it unsettled him. Worse yet, he liked it.

“So, Potter,” Malfoy said. “Patronus Charm?”

“Yes.” Harry quickly jumped out of his sea of thoughts, and pulled his wand out. “How much do you know about it?”

“Happy memory, concentration,” Malfoy said, shrugging and also pulling his wand out.

“The happiest,” Harry corrected. “The happier the memory, the more powerful your patronus will be.”

Malfoy swished his wand at a nearby fallen tree, and they watched it transform into a smoothly-cut wooden bench. He summoned it and took a seat, folding his long legs underneath him. Then he closed his eyes, and Harry watched.

“Have you got a memory in mind?” Harry asked, his voice soloing too loudly above the soft hum of the insects flying through the sweet air.

Malfoy nodded but kept his eyes shut. Then, he lifted his wand, his lips parted, and cast. “ _Expecto patronum_.” One eye cracked open, Malfoy watched his own failed spell, but only closed his eyes again, and retried the spell. It failed again and was met with a heavy sigh. He seemed to be about to make a comment insulting his own abilities, so Harry quickly sat down next to him.

“Most people struggle with casting it for the first time.”

“I _know_ , Potter.” He scowled. “It’s why efforts have gone to waste.”

“What was your memory?”

Malfoy’s scowl deepened, his exposed inability to cast a Patronus in front of _Harry Potter_ apparently darkening his mood. For the millionth time in his life, he wished he wasn’t Harry Potter, and maybe Malfoy would be less critical of his own abilities in front of him. Malfoy's desire to be the best and triumph over everyone in all areas academic, Harry suspected, was deeply rooted in his childhood attachment of success being synonymous with his abilities, drilled into him by his father and Severus Snape himself.

“That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” He snapped.

No, Malfoy wasn’t selfish and judgemental and cynical like Harry had thought; he was just moody. Although, Harry supposed, he should have known better than to ask someone like Malfoy what his happiest memory was. “When I was first casting it, my memory was when I found out I was a wizard and could attend Hogwarts. It doesn’t have to be something big, like being told by the person you love that they love you. Just something that had a big, gloriously happy impact for you.”

Malfoy was silent, and it made Harry wonder, had Malfoy ever been told ‘ _I love you_ ’? The words hung heavily between them, a solid mistake on Harry’s part and he silently winced at his choice of example. “Your flourish, also, is too precise.” Harry said quickly. “Happiness is not a precise emotion, don’t be so rigid in your wrist. Here, I’ll do it with you.” He grabbed Malfoy’s hand, whose palm was warm and fingers cold, knuckles bony and prominent. Harry hadn’t noticed before, but Malfoy had really nice hands. Malfoy was staring at him. He coughed. “Got your memory? I’ll count to three then I’ll cast with you.”

Malfoy’s eyes remained trained on Harry’s as he nodded, and this was definitely too long to be holding someone’s hand, awkwardly positioned in the air.

Malfoy shut his eyes, and Harry counted to three. “ _Expecto patronum_.” Malfoy said, as soon as Harry hit three.

A massive white dragon erupted from the end of Malfoy’s wand, stretching its wings as if relieved from years of captivity within Malfoy’s wand.

Harry couldn’t refrain from laughing - of course his Patronus was reflective of his very name. “And just when you thought he couldn’t get any more conceited…”

Malfoy didn’t notice Harry’s jab; he was too busy gaping at the ethereal dragon twisting and turning in front of him like it was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. “Is that my patronus?”

“No, it’s a Dementor. Obviously.” Harry joked, happy for Malfoy. “See, I knew you that you could do it.”

“I didn’t do it.” Malfoy said. Harry retracted his hand, and the dragon melted away into the air, and disappointment made a home on Malfoy’s face. “It’s just because you helped.”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugged. “But now you know what it feels like to cast a patronus. And what your patronus is.”

“I didn’t even expect to get to see my shield form today,” Malfoy said in disbelief. “Thank you, Potter.”

“You’re supposed to be good at magic, it doesn’t surprise me.” Harry waved a hand in the air, dismissing his thanks.

“I _am_ good at magic. At the Manor, if something can be done with magic, I have to do it with magic. The walls _know_ , Potter. I think they tell Lucius if I do something the Muggle way.”

If Harry had not have been at the Manor recently, he would have thought Malfoy to be crazy, but he knew exactly what Malfoy meant about feeling like the walls were watching. He wondered if Lucius knew about his visit. He didn’t ask; he figured if Malfoy wanted him to know, he would tell him. “Why do you still live at the Manor?” Harry asked without much thought, completely contradictory to his thought before. “You’re not poor, and clearly you don’t like living there.”

Malfoy’s jaw clenched and Harry thought that this was it; he’d finally crossed the line with his impetuous questions. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and opened it again. “I,” he started, “I’ll show you if you want.”

Harry blinked. That was not the answer he had expected at all.

 

-

 

Harry side-alonged with Malfoy and they Apparated to the Manor. The cool air of Wiltshire’s forests were thinner and more sinister than that of the cheerful woodland like bush on the outskirts of Wizarding London. The clear blue skies had changed into thickly painted grey skies, storm clouds passing menacingly overhead, rain falling lightly, but obviously strong enough to have created small puddles in the grond. There was no warm hum to this forest, just the droning conversations of branches creaking and the occasional haunting bird-call. The Manor loomed well above the rich-green coloured tree line, the evil from years it ago that it used to house still reeking and bleeding into the forest. Harry followed Malfoy silently into the forest, the undergrowth growing thicker and his feet getting caught multiple times in upturned roots. Paranoia set itself deep in his stomach, as years of Auror training had primed him to feel. Malfoy seemed to know every piece of this forest, expertly stepping over parts that Harry would follow and trip himself on. The trees were becoming less and less dense, and bird-calls were more distant. The Manor did not seem nearly as intimidating once distance had been put between himself and the building. One light was turned on at the top of the Manor, signs that Lucius Malfoy still existed, still breathed under the same sky as Harry did.

Malfoy came to an abrupt stop and Harry almost walked straight into his incredibly up-right back. He let out a small sound of indignation, to which he was shooshed quite violently. “Keep behind and don’t be loud.” Malfoy looked like he was going to make a comment about that last statement, something about him being a Gryffindor and how that might be hard for him, but somehow summoned forth enough self-control to stop himself.

Malfoy crept forward, somehow managing to make the crunching of leaves under his feet silent. He pushed through a thick growth, holding it back for Harry, and they stepped together into a huge clearing. There were about ten large animals strutting around, all of which had a lion’s head, followed by a disproportionately skinny body, and ending with a serpent for a tail. Their paws were large, with sharp, deadly looking claws protruding from them.

“Chimeras,” Malfoy whispered from beside Harry, as one of the serpents breathed a gust of fire up into the air.

“They’re why you stay here?” Harry asked softly, half in awe of these creatures, half cautious of the obvious power their bodies held.

“No one will take care of them if I leave.” Malfoy explained. “They’ve been my only friends ever since I was a little boy.”

Harry blinked at the raw confession coming from such a reticent person. He felt privileged to be hearing this; this was something he couldn’t imagine Malfoy readily telling anyone, and wondered why it was himself that Malfoy chose to reveal these things to.

“When I was younger," he went on, just as softly, "they were the most important reason for me not to... for me to live.” He took a step further into the clearing.

Harry followed cautiously, swallowing thickly when the Chimeras noticed their presence and began to make their way over. “I’ve felt like that too, if it’s any consolation.” Harry added hesitantly. “I had the fate of the whole Wizarding World in my hands, and I so often wished it wasn’t me who had to do all the work. I was afraid, all the time. Everyone thought, oh it’s Harry Potter, he can do it because he’s _Harry Potter_ , but I was just a little kid without any parents with huge expectations that I had no clue how to live up to.”

“You’re simply an annoyingly impulsive Gryffindor to me.” Malfoy said, matter-of-factly, reaching out to pat one of the huge heads of the Chimera’s, his palm fitting easily between the eyes of the Chimera. "If it helps."

“And that’s what I respect about you.” Harry cut in, surprising both himself and Malfoy. “It feels like everyone owns a little bit of me, owns a little bit of my story by expecting so much of me, but not you. I’m not Harry Potter, the boy who lived. I’m just Potter. Just the kid you went to school with and now just your patient.”

Malfoy was silent for a moment before turning his steely gaze to Harry’s. “You’re much more than just my patient.”

His gaze was deliberate and unwavering and intense, pinning Harry to the spot. Harry was sure he could feel every little pebble or grain of dirt under his feet and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. His heart began to pound in his chest and he forced himself not to swallow. He really was very attractive, Harry thought, deciding that he grew into his pointy-ness rather well. Now more than ever, he noticed the height difference between them, and the few inches Malfoy had on Harry now seemed like meters. Meters of limbs and airs and graces and attitude – everything that made Malfoy Malfoy. A Chimera nudged at his wrist, breaking their trance. Harry almost yelped, his heart rate palpitating once more.

“You can pat her, you know.” Malfoy laughed, doing that thing again where he would shut off any meaningful emotion and pretend that it didn't exist. “They look scary, but as long as I’m here, they’re about as harmful as a month old puppy.”

Harry tentatively reached out, and placed his hand between the creatures eyes like Malfoy had done and she closed her eyes, her snake-tail waving at him gently. Harry smiled, breathing out a rather large sigh of relief. “What do you do for them?”

“Oh, well, they can’t go past this clearing. They are the last that I know to be in England, but their numbers are rapidly diminishing worldwide, because of Hunters. Most Hunters only hunt them because they’re misunderstood,” he said, anger seeping into his tone. “But others… their tails are extraordinarily expensive amongst black markets. They find use for their kidneys in just about everything, too.”

The large, soulful eyes opened and blinked up at Harry. And in that moment, Harry understood. Pity struck through him, hot and sharp. Things that are out of the ordinary, things people don’t take the time to understand, get left behind and classified as beasts. But as Harry stared into the depth of her eyes, all he could see was longing and curiosity. Nothing worthy of death at all.

“ _Bellum se ipsum alet_ – war feeds itself.” Malfoy continued. “They hunted them for their tails first, and the Chimeras, who are very loyal and territorial creatures, fought back.”

All the Chimera’s had surrounded them in one circle, each asking for attention and rubbing themselves over them when they weren’t given attention.

“Can you talk to the tails?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged in answer, and directed his attention to the tails, swishing with attitude in the cool forest air. “Hello? Can you understand me?” He hissed at the snakes.

He was given no reply. They didn’t even seem to notice they were talking to him, just kept waving at them, spitting fire into the air every so often. “No.” He told Malfoy.

“Oh.” He said, disappointment in his voice. He _accio_ 'd quickly and a bag came flying through the bushes and into Malfoy’s arms, and he caught it deftly, pulling the drawstrings apart and taking out two apples. He threw one to Harry, and four greedy eyes turned to him. “It’s funny you named your snake Orpheus,” Malfoy mused, as he bit off large chunks of apple with his teeth and passed it from his palm to the mouth of the closets Chimera. “Orpheus and the Chimera can be very loosely related, in their stories.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, copying Malfoy’s actions and passing the chunks of apple to the Chimeras.

“The Chimera is the sister of Cerberus, and Orpheus was one of the few to get past Cerberus into the Gates of Hades.”

Harry decided Malfoy knew too much about too many things.

Without warning, the Chimera’s scattered, throwing their maned heads back and letting out roars that made the leaves quiver. They were baring their teeth at the hedge, pushing their shoulders forward, the snakes attached to their rear now swaying ferociously and narrowing their yellowed eyes, searching for something.

“Malfoy,” Harry said worriedly. “What’s happening?”

Malfoy looked about as confused as Harry did. “I’m not sure.”

The Chimera’s had formed a circle around them both, and Harry reached into his pocket, retrieving his wand and holding it out in front of himself. He cast a glance to his side to find that Malfoy had done the same, and they stood back to back, pointing their wands at empty air. Their hands brushed, and Harry pulled his violently back as if he had been shocked.

 _Honestly. This kind of treatment, as if we are as bad as the Dark Lord himself_. Harry heard a voice, cold and drawling, ridden with entitlement.

 _You would have thought us intruders_ , said another voice, just as monotonous and condescending.

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted through a whisper. “Can you hear that?”

“I can’t hear anything over their roaring!”

“There’s someone there!” He said. And just as he had said that, he saw a pair of green eyes flash at him, and a tongue slide from a pointed mouth to lick at the air.

_I think that is Harry Potter._

“Malfoy!” Harry said again, pointing at the bushes. “Look!”

Malfoy turned, narrowed eyes flicking carefully over the barrier of overgrown undergrowth, until he spotted what Harry was talking about.

“Mordecai!” Through some incredible feat of strength, he managed to push his way out of the circle of Chimeras, ushering them backwards, and patting them to silence their protests. “You’re not supposed to be out here!”

 _You know_ , another snake appeared beside Mordecai, _I think his hair is outrageous_. _Master Malfoy thinks otherwise_.

“Arkash!” Malfoy barked. “Go back home! You’re not allowed out here!”

 _Those big monsters do not scare me,_ Arkash sniffed in disdain.

“How do they know what you’re saying?” Harry asked Malfoy, soothing a smaller Chimera and trying to silence its howls.

“These horrors can read minds.” Malfoy explained, a formidable look in his eyes. “They keep my mother’s garden clear of any animals that try to eat her plants.”

“You really should go back inside, now.” Harry hissed at them, judging by the thunderous expression on Malfoy's face. He glanced over at him, to see him muttering under his breath about risks and what might have happened if they got out of the bounds as he calmed them down by giving each of them a whole apple.

 _A parselmouth!_ The black snake with orange spots said – Arkash- Harry remembered. _Oh, what a disgrace to all parselmouths, to have to one speak it who is so dirty and unkempt._

“Excuse me?” Harry protested, displeased, but he couldn’t find it hard to be surprised. They belonged to the House of Malfoy, wasn’t it typical that they would be home to creatures with such vile personalities. Guiltily, he looked over at the man fretting over creatures that he took into his care because no one else would do it, and he shamed himself for judging so harshly. Draco Malfoy was much more than just a Malfoy, that was for sure.

 _He thinks we’re being mean_ , Mordecai said. _Such sensitivity. He cannot handle the truth._

“Your snakes have horrible attitudes.” Harry called to Malfoy, who was now re-setting their bedding, cross.

“I’m glad I can’t hear what they’re saying.” He called back.

“Your mother clearly didn’t get them for their ability to make you feel special.” He said in disdain.

Malfoy smiled and pulled out of the enormous burrow, dusting his hands off and ushering the Chimeras inside. “I’m sure whatever they’re saying is completely fictitious.”

All of a sudden, there was a huge clap of thunder from overhead, and the storm clouds broke, releasing the rain to pelt down heavily at full speed. Once again, the Chimeras dispersed in crazed like charging into the cover of their burrow.

 _Disaster - more rain!_   _I told you this was a bad idea, you idiot!_ Harry heard one of the snakes saying, and smirked to himself, thinking that it served them right.

“Shit.” He heard Malfoy saying, then he was streaking across the clearing to the other side, running against the force of the sudden rain.

“Malfoy!” Harry called, sprinting after him. “What are you doing?”

Malfoy’s legs were a lot longer than Harry’s, and they carried him quickly to the edge of the clearing, where he began to push aside the barrier in devastation. “I forgot to renew the shield,” He said once Harry had reached him, his voice heavy with distress. “The snakes break the shields by entering them – they can’t help it, it’s just the way their magic interacts with the shield.”

Rain was pouring down his face, colouring his hair an unremarkable light honey colour. He was talking very fast, worry etching deep rivers into his skin. He pushed back the barrier as best as he could, and stepped clumsily through it. “The baby got out; I think the thunder scared her. I need to find her before she goes too far. Stay here and guard this opening, make sure they all stay in here.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, say that he could come with him to find her, but the leaves had already fallen back into place, and Malfoy was beyond the barrier, leaving Harry worried and itching to help, but refusing to disobey Malfoy’s orders.

He felt very alone without Malfoy beside him now, after spending a full day in his company. Frankly, being left alone while trapped inside a clearing full of supposedly harmless animals whilst on Malfoy property troubled him a bit, but he refused to let himself be anything less than the Gryffindor he was supposed to be. The late light, already dim, was even more so with the rain and the clouds covering the sun. He wrapped his arms closer around himself, knowing there would be no use to summon a jacket in this rain. He wondered whether London was getting this rain, and whether Orpheus was okay in it. He was probably sleeping through it, though. After the comparison between Malfoy’s snakes and his own, he felt strangely affectionate towards Orpheus.

The rain fell harder, the anxious, gusting wind carrying it in whirls one minute and diagonal sheets the next, wreaking havoc on Harry’s already wild hair. It hammered in thick wet sounds against the soil, creating little pools of mud. He wiped at his face, trying to rid the droplets of water from his face but to no avail as more rain beat his skin. A growl rumbled as there was a crack of lightning, and Harry really wished he was indoors. A shape emerged from the haze of rain, and Harry squinted his eyes, struggling to see past the rain drops running determinedly down his glasses. The shapes grew bigger, and as they drew closer, Harry recognized them to be the Chimeras.

Harry took a step back, sharp twigs from the shrubbery digging into his back. What he thought to be a growl at the thunder, he realised was a growl at himself. The pitiless sheets of rain fell on without a break, streaking down on Harry’s outstretched arm holding his wand. The Chimeras were closing in and Malfoy’s words rang clear in his mind ‘they won’t hurt you as long as I’m here’. And Malfoy wasn’t here. Malfoy would kill him if any harm were to befall the Chimeras, yet Harry didn’t know what he’d have to do as the Chimeras pressed closer and closer, tails slashing through the heavy rain, eyes narrowed and legs stalking with purpose towards Harry.

The Chimera leading the pack – the biggest and muscliest – snapped at him, and Harry danced sideways, praying for Malfoy to find the baby and come back soon. He couldn’t cast destructive spells, and a Patronus was hardly going to help him now.

“ _Immobulus_!” Came a voice, and Harry watched the leader of the pack become effectively stationary. “You do _not_ attack Harry Potter.”

Harry never thought he’d been so glad to hear Malfoy’s voice before. In his arms, Malfoy held a baby Chimera almost bigger than himself and another streak of lightning lit up the sky. Malfoy set the Chimera down and it ran immediately to its mothers’ side, hiding in between her legs.

“Are you alright?” Malfoy asked, running his hands over Harry’s sides, as if trying to gauge for damage. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone with them, I know what they can be like. I’m such an idiot, I’m so sorry Potter.”

“I’m okay.” Harry said, trying to catch his eye, “I’ve had worse in Auror training. I’m glad you found the baby okay.”

Malfoy turned to the Chimeras, who were all standing around in the torrential rain, manes sodden and drooping, heads bowed in shame. “You do not ever, _ever_ attack someone else unless I tell you to. Ever. You should feel ashamed of yourselves. Do you have any idea what would have happened if you had killed him? How much trouble that would put me in?”

The Chimeras shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, as if they were able to understand every word of what Malfoy was saying. “Go to your burrow.” Malfoy spat, pointing violently at the mound, made barely visible by the pouring sheets of rain.

Tails tucked between their legs, the Chimeras filed into a line and made their way to the other side of the clearing to shelter from the merciless rain.

Malfoy's shirt clung to his body, his hair flattened and expensive shoes wet with mud clinging to them. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to push it back off his forehead. “I had no idea this was going to be such an ordeal.”

Harry took his glasses off, sick of having to look through wet frames, supposing that they weren’t helping him see any and only serving as something to trap mini pools of water onto his face. “It’s okay, really – how were you supposed to know?”

His hair flopped limply back onto his face and he cautiously held out his arm for Harry. “Do you want to stay for tea?”

It was just a house, Harry told himself. It couldn’t hurt him. He nodded, and slid his hands around Malfoy’s cold upper arm, feeling the pull at his navel when he side-alonged with Malfoy into the Manor.

Malfoy cast drying spells on both of them as soon as they were inside, slipping off his ruined shoes and socks, summoning soft grey cashmere sweaters for both of them. Harry slipped it on gratefully, tugging the sleeves down as long as possible and putting his glasses back on. “Take off your shoes,” Malfoy told him, pulling his sweater on as well. “Lucius doesn’t like it when you walk around the Manor with shoes on.”

Malfoy had already began to pad into another room and Harry hastily removed his shoes, walked quickly after Malfoy; not wanting to be left alone here. He smelled of rain, even though Malfoy’s spell had been thorough and his clothes were just as clean as they had been prior to the rain.

“Dad!” Scorpius Malfoy came bolting through one of the arching doorways and flew into his fathers’ arms, red faced and puffy eyed from crying.

“Scorpius,” Malfoy said worriedly, his attentions now solely directed at his son. “What’s the matter?”

“The storm,” Scorpius sniffled, burrowing his face into Malfoy’s stomach.

Malfoy’s eyes softened, his eyebrows twitching with concern and love. He pulled Scorpius’ head closer into him, a hand running down his head repeatedly. “I’m sorry for leaving you here scared.”

Indistinguishable, muffled mumbling came from his mouth, pressed against his fathers’ expensive sweater. Malfoy just let him cry into it, one hand on his back, thumb stroking small circles, the other petting his head. “Where was your grandfather?”

“He told me not to cry at the thunder. He kept saying it should not frighten me.”

The cold look returned to Malfoy’s eyes. “Did you go into my room, then? You know he can't go in there.”

Scorpius nodded and sniffed. He raised his head and blinked the eyes that were so similar to his fathers’ at Harry. He drew himself up and wiped at his eyes, trying to be years more mature than he was. “Hello Mr. Potter.”

Harry smiled sadly, and met Malfoy’s distressed eyes. “Storms are very scary, you know.”

He sniffed again, looking unsure. “They don’t scare me.”

Harry bent onto his knees so he was eye-to-eye level with Scorpius. “Storms scare me sometimes,” he said, trying to comfort the exhausted child. “Everyone is scared of something, but that doesn’t measure your bravery. Bravery is when you’re scared, but you still get through it. You’re getting through it, so I think you’re very brave.”

Scorpius’ lower lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears again. Suddenly, he was throwing himself at Harry, locking his little pale arms around his neck. Harry smiled up at Malfoy who gave him a thankful look, bending down on one knee behind his son to lay a warm hand on the small of his back.

“Harry Potter thinks I’m brave?” He choked out.

Harry almost laughed. “I’m no braver than you, or your dad, or anyone.”

“He will not learn this way, Draco,” drawled a horribly familiar voice.

Harry spun around, the crying child still in his arms, to see Lucius Malfoy’s foreboding form leering in the middle of the arch that connected the foyer to the kitchen. He had forgotten what that voice sounded like, how he liked to look down his nose at everyone, the smooth fall of his blond hair. Unresolved fear from his childhood crashed harder into him than he had expected it would and he forced his fingers to uncurl from his wand.

Malfoy’s shoulders stiffened and became his motions became even more robotic than before. “He will not learn by being taught to fear the things that scare him, either.”

“Grandson,” He said, extending a superior-looking hand to Scorpius. “Come prepare some tea for your guest.” His eyes scanned wickedly over Harry’s face, their history prickling nastily between them.

“I forbid you to govern my son like a common house-elf.” Malfoy said, standing to equal his height with his father. “While you may still be the Master of this estate, you are not the Master of my son. He is the Master of himself and will do as he wishes.”

“Stop this now. You are weak, and your complete lack of respect for yourself is ignominious. Your son will learn proper Pureblood etiquette, and will become a respectable Malfoy heir. I refuse to let my grandson follow in your iconoclastic footsteps any longer.” Lucius snapped, his out-stretched hand unwavering and uncompromising.

“Because that attitude worked so well the first time around,” Malfoy spat.

His hands where hidden within the sleeves of his sweater, but Harry could see. He was shaking. Here was Draco Malfoy, the man who made a fucking art form out of composing himself, shaking in a turmoil of anger. Harry could feel the red hot, uncapped fury tumbling beneath this façade that appeared to be so untouched and unemotional and dead and it was completely disturbing.

“ _Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim_.” Lucius said, and then Malfoy lost it.

“How _dare_ you.” Malfoy roared, his voice filling the large empty space of the foyer. “Life will throw enough at him for being a Malfoy, he does not anything but support from his family.”

“You could leave the Manor any time you want, if you are not happy with my parenting.”

He bit the insides of his cheeks, eyes flashing. “He’s not yours to parent.”

Lucius stared at his son, age doing nothing to dilute that cruelty in his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin, pejorative line. “ _Sum quod eris_. And when that day comes, you will understand.” Lucius spoke back, his mannerisms perfectly collected, making Malfoy appear savage and out of control in comparison.

“I will _never_ be like you.” Malfoy seethed.

“You’ll have to be, one day.” And with that, he swept out of sight.

Malfoy’s hands clenched over and over again, his face flushed, but he didn’t say more.

“You don’t need to fight with him, dad.” Scorpius said, standing to go to his father and embrace his leg. “I don’t mind making tea.”

“It's not the tea itself, Scorpius, it's what it stands for. You are _not_ making tea just because _he_ tells you to,” Malfoy softened, looking down at his son who was buttoning and buttoning the wrist cuffs on his shirt. "Come on, let’s all make some together.”

Scorpius led the way, and Malfoy waited for Harry to stand, walking with him side by side into the kitchen, trailing behind Scorpius. “I thought he would be out tonight. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Harry smiled at him, trying to reassure him. His hand brushed Malfoy’s, and this time he took the opportunity to take it into his own, giving it a small squeeze and then releasing again. Malfoy’s eyes widened and he stared at Harry, lips parted in confusion.

“I wasn’t expecting him not to be there, so I prepared myself for pretty much anything before.” Harry confessed, not letting himself look anywhere but at his feet.

"He's just angry because he can't cast magic anymore." Malfoy whispered.

"He can't?" Harry asked, surprised. "I didn't know that was part of his sentence."

Harry remembered that day so vividly. Lucius was sitting in the middle of the trial room, his usually perfect flowing mane of white hair now straggly and dirty, his cold eyes fatal. Draco had his mothers arm wrapped around him, his eyes were averted and his skin was a sickly blend of grey and green, his shoulders slouched. Harry had swept into that room, in all his teenage egotism, testified for the Malfoys and swept out without another glance. He remembered Draco's worn eyes on him, as if he was too tired to try and come up with a reason as to why Harry would do something like that for them. Harry had provoked it knowingly, a display of pure immaturity, as though to say, 'look where you are and look where I am. I beat you. I'll always beat you.'

Draco had called his name as Harry left, and Harry had not looked back.

"When you testified, it kept him out of Azkaban, but they ordered the removal of his Crux instead. I think he would have rather gone to Azkaban." He took a breath as he walked, eyes trained on the ground. "It was part of my punishment, that I had the honours."

Harry didn't realise Malfoy had been in Healer training that long to know how to eject a Crux by eighteen or nineteen years old. Harry had not stuck around to hear their sentences, and now wished he had, as that was truly a sadistic punishment.

“Can we make it the Muggle way?” Scorpius interrupted from in front of them, seeming to not notice the storm that rumbled on outside anymore, or Harry and Malfoy's conversation.

Malfoy forced his face to brighten, laughed and lifted him up onto the bench. “Why don’t you tell me what to do, Scorpius. I always seem to forget.”

Harry smiled at the lie, amused that Malfoy of all people was good with kids. He never seemed to cease to surprise him.

Scorpius went about instructing his father how to make the tea, correcting him on tiny details that Harry would have overlooked completely, like how many tea-leaves were too many tea-leaves, or how high the teapot was when pouring, or when to add the milk. Each time Scorpius would pick up on something Malfoy was doing wrong, a tiny smile of affection would curve the ends of Malfoy’s lips and he would shake his head slightly in endearment.

“Your hair is funny, Harry.” Scorpius commented, once he had stopped criticising Malfoy’s tea-making technique, waiting for Malfoy to pour the tea into three delicately crafted china cups. What nine year old drinks _tea_ , Harry thought to himself.

“Harry’s hair is always funny,” Malfoy said, levitating the cups on their delicatw saucers. “Let’s go into the drawing room.”

Harry followed, grinning silently to himself, knowing what Narcissa’s snakes said about Malfoy’s real thoughts on his hair. Nevertheless, he followed Malfoy and Scorpius into an extensively decorated drawing room, tapestry coating the walls, not a single inch of wall left uncovered by art. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was surprised anymore by the sheer grandeur of the Manor’s rooms.

“Dad, I started the Chopin,” Scorpius said excitedly, pulling one of the saucers from the air and taking it to grand piano standing in the middle of the room. “Do you want to hear it?”

Malfoy sat down neatly on a very soft patterned couch beside the piano, resting the saucer on its arms and wrapping his long fingers around the cup. “Absolutely.”

Scorpius sat himself behind the piano, his feet barely reaching the pedals, and began to play.

In contrast to Malfoy’s playing, Scorpius’ playing was clumsy, his too-small fingers stumbling over the keys and it was devoid of the emotion that Malfoy poured into his playing. Still, the determination and concentration knitted his brows together; marking the most significant resemblance between Malfoy and his son. Harry glanced across at Malfoy, who had put down his cup and was resting his pointed chin on his clasped knuckles, eyes closed and smiling proudly.

Scorpius’ body moved like Malfoy’s did when he was playing; he must watch his father when he plays. The thought of Malfoy playing to his son, Scorpius’ eyes huge and captivated, watching and learning, twisted itself into a comfortable position in Harry’s chest, warming his heart and making him feel all fuzzy inside. Even the room, now that Harry had time to examine it was only slightly different to the other rooms he had seen. It had signs of human life in it; there was a pair of shoes with their shoelaces hanging out lying by the door, an old coffee mug by a book-shelf and shapeless pillows bracketing chairs with small dips in the centre where they had sat. It looked far more homely, even though it was just as overly decorated to the point of obnoxiousness as the other rooms.

This was Malfoy and his son’s room, not another vacant space used for nothing but to stare at to mask the void of loneliness and detachment. In the whole Manor, this was theirs.

“Nocturne in B Major, opus 32, no 1,” Malfoy whispered to Harry. “I remember playing this one when I was younger too, -“

“Don’t talk!” Scorpius protested, but his talking seemed to cause his fingers to slip and he threw his arms up in frustration. “You made me mess up!”

Malfoy opened his eyes. “You messed yourself up, I’m afraid. There was a wrong note in there somewhere.”

Scorpius crossed his arms, looking defeated. “I’m no good at this.”

“Rubbish,” Malfoy dismissed, standing up. “You play it better than I did when I first started that piece, and I was a lot older than you.”

Harry slipped his feet under himself, scooting across to the other side of the couch, resting his elbow on its arm and supporting his head with his hand, watching Malfoy come around behind his son and place his fingers over the keys.

“You just have to be gentler with the notes; make the music speak.” He began to play, his fingers caressing the keys, playing with a fluent ease. The notes were the same, but it sounded like a completely difference piece. “The music on the page is a story, you’re the story teller.”

The flavour of Harry’s tea became insipid compared to the taste of Malfoy’s music. Colour streamed from Malfoy’s fingers, just like it had on Friday the twenty-first, dancing into the air lazily. He withdrew his arms from around Scorpius, and Scorpius began to play, and the colours faded un the air like milk in water. Scorpius began to play the start again, taking it slower, his fingers taking greater care of the trills. The experience level difference was immense when it was played sequentially like that, but Harry decided even at nine, Scorpius was more musically talented than he could ever be.

Suddenly, a longcase clock almost identical to the one in Malfoy’s office let out a ring, and Malfoy straightened, picking Scorpius up and off the stool with him. “Get yourself ready for bed, I’ll come and tuck you in once I show Potter out.”

“Why do you call him Potter?” Scorpius asked, taking his abandoned tea cup into his hands. “It’s not very friendly.”

Malfoy blinked. “No, I suppose it’s not, but we’ve always called each other by our last names. It would be like if I started calling you Malfoy instead of Scorpius.”

Scorpius shrugged and held out his cup for Malfoy to warm with a quick flick of his hand. “I can’t wait till I get to use magic,” he said. “Good night, Harry.”

“Night, Scorpius,” Harry said softly, still in his stretched out position on Malfoy’s couch.

Once Scorpius had padded out of the room, Malfoy swivelled Harry’s legs to one side of the couch, taking a seat next to him.

“You never told me what the colours were,” Harry said. “You play, and colours come out.”

Malfoy smirked. “There are easier ways of getting information than trying to press me to tell you the answer.”

“So you’re not going to tell me?” He shook his head.

“Discovery is a personal journey.”

“You sound like a prophet.” Harry muttered. “What did Lucius say to you that made you so angry?”

He rolled his eyes. “He said,” Malfoy said stiffly, “and I quote: be patient and tough, someday this pain will be useful to you. Then, he told me _Sum quod eri_ , which means ‘I am what you will become.”

Harry made a face. “Well that’s fucked.”

Malfoy snorted, raising his eyebrows and smiling grimly in agreement, sharing the sentiment. “His whole ideals are fucked. Anyway,” he said wafting his hand through the air for a flower to come racing into his hand, “I’m going to give this to you and I’m going to tell you it’s meaning because I’m not going to make you look it up in that Pureblood Customs book I know you have.”

Harry made a noise of protest, wondering how Malfoy knew that, whether he’d been snooping in his room, but Malfoy held up a hand, effectively silencing him.

“This flower means ‘please say yes’ and I’m giving it to you because there’s a match on at the LQS in a few days and I’m asking you to come with me.”

Harry reached a tentative hand out, and took the flower. He had no clue what it was, Malfoy was probably right in telling him rather than making him look it up and getting the meaning wrong. “Who’s playing?”

“Puddlemere and the Wasps.”

“Two British-Irish teams?” Harry asked. “That will be interesting.”

“So you’ll come?”

Harry smiled, finding Malfoy’s nerves reassuring that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to build relationships. “I’d love to.”

 

-

 

“Thanks for putting up with everything that’s happened today,” Malfoy said, as he walked Harry up the wide staircase to his Floo.

“Thanks for showing me the Chimeras.” Harry replied.

Malfoy’s face narrowed and held a finger tightly against his lips, shooshing Harry. “Don’t mention them here.” He said. “The walls,” he explained, gesturing randomly around him, “they can hear, remember?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, cringing, wishing he didn’t have to say the wrong thing _all the bloody time_. “What happened to that room?” Harry asked as Malfoy swiftly led him past a blackened room, door left open ajar.

“I burnt it.” He said shortly, long legs carrying himself much faster than Harry felt like he could keep up with without breaking into a jog. “It used to… it used to be a sort of panic room that the Death Eaters would come to if they needed somewhere to hide. Now I just use it as somewhere to destroy things in.”

“And… Lucius is okay with that?” Harry asked tentatively.

“No.” He scowled. “But he’s not okay with anything that I do, so it doesn’t really make a difference.”

He turned to face a white door and pulled at the gold handle. The door opened with barely a squeak for how old it looked and the sweet dusty smell of old books filled his senses. “This is our old library.” Malfoy explained. “Home to Floor number two.”

The lights were shot out, and a thin layer of dust covered everything Harry could see. “You have two Floos?” He didn’t know anyone else who had two Floos.

“This one isn’t as nice as the other one.” Malfoy said, pulling a jar of Floo Powder down from a shelf beside the fireplace. “I figured it would be good for you to know that it’s not all outrageously well-polished and pristine as you think it is.”

“I don’t.” Harry smiled, taking a handful of Floo Powder from Malfoy and stepping into the fireplace, Floo powder training delicately from his fingers. Just as he opened his mouth to pronounce ‘St. Mungo’s,’ he shut his mouth again, deciding that there was one more thing he wanted to say to Malfoy. “I’m glad you didn’t do it, you know.”

Malfoy cocked his head, replacing the lid of the jar. “Hmm?”

“Kill yourself.” The words were heavy on Harry’s tongue, and he found he had much more difficulty getting them out of his mouth that he would have expected. “I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself.”

Malfoy smiled softly, and a soft, warm expression, one that Harry had never seen before, clouded his eyes. “So am I.”

 


	11. Apology - authors note

This is just me explaining a thing.

I've got this weird thing where I make up words but genuinely think they're real words, I forget words I know, I can't place or find a word, I can't spell, and I'll write a sentence that will be completely fine, then I'll look at it two minutes later and it will be a jumble of stuff that doesn't really make sense. It's really distressing to me because I love writing - the other day it took me the whole day to remember what contagious meant. It's been like this for about three months now and I thought I could manage it but it's only getting worse and I'm feeling more and more concerned about it. I'm just hoping this goes away soon because it's preventing me from being able to write.

If it's any consolation, there's some happenings next chapter that I really enjoyed writing, so that's cool.  
I'll be updating in a few days, thanks for sticking by me!


	12. Love Colours the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind comments some of you left regarding what I posted previously explaining why my updates times are lengthening. Thank you so much for understanding and being so considerate about it.
> 
> I have been drugged up on Morphine as of surgery today while writing this chapter, so I'm sorry if it doesn't make any sense but whatever I need to post something.
> 
> I'm also going on holiday in seven days and won’t have internet access, so heads up for that.
> 
> And now a message to the people who know me personally, let’s just not talk about this chapter, ever. *runs and hides*

It started off like everything started off for Harry: a meaningless something to occupy his time and entertain his curiosity, not something worth wasting energy over thinking about. But now that he was thinking about it, it was eating him alive, leaving behind whatever sanity his mind had left. Now that he was thinking about it, he was slowly declining harder and faster, all at once, crashing and tumbling down a tunnel that just kept on going, and Draco Malfoy was at the bottom of it.

Harry’s entire world had been lost when they had known each other during school. Were they ever really strangers, if this shared intensity was drawn tight between the two of them for as long as they had known each other? He would have thought it animosity, but it was no where nearly as cruel as that – it was this unnamed connection that never seemed to cease. And Harry wanted to hang on to it - but how could you hang on to something so incomprehensible?

It was like learning the alphabet for the first time. It was bizarre and completely unfamiliar in Harry’s chest and yet he welcomed it with open arms. His feelings were as valid as winter snow was cold and Malfoy was as unpredictable as life itself. The cruel bite of loneliness buried itself deep within Harry’s chest as he realised that fancying someone like Malfoy would never work out.

“Harry!” Hermione came bursting through the door, startling Harry, her face softened by the glow of happiness on her lightly flushed skin and Harry knew it was wrong to be seen as anything less than content in front of a beaming friend. “We’ve got Renford!” She said, almost slamming the door behind her in her enthusiasm.

“Wow! Really?” Harry asked, jumping up to embrace her.

“He was spotted by the Ministry and now that we’ve got his magical signature, we’re able to track him the next time he does something!” She didn’t look like she quite knew what to do with herself, so she sat down on Harry’s bed, huffing and grinning. “Isn’t it marvellous?”

“I wish I could be there to catch him with you.” Harry said, forcing a happy tone.

“I’m sure you’ll show me right up, though.” Hermione cocked her head at him and rolled her eyes, seeing right through him. “Don’t be miserable, Harry. You’ll get better soon – speaking of which, I had no idea I was assigning Malfoy as your Healer, I’m so sorry.”

Malfoy. He felt his pulse rate speed up and was glad Orpheus wasn’t attached to his wrist. The words ‘you’re much more than just my patient’ kept wreaking havoc on his sanity as they ran savagely through his mind. He shrugged. “He’s okay, actually.” He didn't want to dwell on that topic - once with Ron was enough. “How’s Ron? He told me you guys were arguing?”

Her eyebrows twitched inwards and confusion clouded her eyes for just a moment, before clearing and turning stormy. “He told you that? Of course he told you that. What an idiot.”

Harry wanted to talk more about the Renford Case, wanted to entertain his jealousy, wallow in his gloom. He was so selfish, sometimes. “Of course he told me that. He tells me everything.”

“You’re a bunch of girls, I swear,” she sighed. “And yes, Ronald has finally realised that he is almost thirty and that living at home with his parents, his sister and his kids along with his wife is _weird_.”

Harry laughed. “Have you got a place picked out? There’s a nice apartment block near Grimmauld that only went up recently.”

“Thanks for the offer, Harry,” she smiled, “but we’ve already got a place picked out. It’s gorgeous actually, a nice Italian Villa out of London, more into the nowhere.”

“But what about Quidditch at the Burrow?” He asked.

“Harry.” She said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve missed three.”

“I’ve been here!”

She silenced his protests with a patient hand in the air. “That’s the great thing about the Wizarding World, Harry, there’s this great thing called a Floo Network, and Apparition, even Fire Calling, or –“

Harry cut her off with a smouldering look. “I’m happy for you.”

Hermione laughed. “Try say that with an expression that doesn’t completely contradict the statement.”

Harry whacked her arm, but he was grinning. “Seeing as you’re here, I feel like you should know know, I'm going under this operation where I get my magic taken away in under two days so I can get it back completely.”

Her mouth dropped, and Harry could see the line of where her lipstick met the inside of her lip. “Harry, that’s completely daft! How can you trust someone like Malfoy to do something like that?”

“Malfoy’s changed, Hermione.” Harry told her quietly. “I do trust him.” Amongst other things.

“Okay,” she said, her expression wary, “if you say so.”

“I do.” He said firmly. “Anyway,” he changed the subject, “what have you got on for today?”

“We think Renford’s going to try to break into the Ministry today,” she said, excitement in her tone once more. “So we’re going to try camp out there today – now technically – but I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Harry smiled, the expression feeling tight and rubbery on his face. He was so jealous; this was one of the only high profile cases he had been assigned to – the Ministry did not want to seem like they were favouring him so instead, they over compensated by giving him the boring cases. A hungry desperation was panting, parched by the thirst to prove himself. He knew it was completely foolish to be jealous, but that rationale crumbled like dried leaves under the drive of his selfishness.

“… and make sure you don’t miss tonight’s Quidditch.” Hermione’s voice crept back into Harry’s conscienceness, and he turned his head to her, noticing she had stood up and was smoothing out her slightly-messier-than-usual hair.

“I’m going to see Puddlemere and the Wasps at London Quidditch Stadium tonight.” Harry said softly.

“St. Mungo’s is letting you?” She asked, surprised, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“Malfoy’s taking me,” he said, finding it hard to make eye contact with Hermione. Why couldn’t he seem to meet her eyes?

“Malfoy’s taking you?” She repeated, her usually delicate features contorted with an odd combination of shock and confusion. “That’s um, that’s… different.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry agreed. Hermione didn’t even know the half of it. “Give Teddy a huge hug from me, okay?” Harry asked, pressing a kiss to his friend’s cheek and showing her out, trying to forget the jealousy creating storms in his stomach.

 

-

 

Harry was going to do it, rules be damned. He wasn’t sick. He could cast spells again, he didn’t even need to cast offensive spells; he could just play defence for himself and his friends. He was going to leave, nothing was going to stop him. There was no way he was giving this opportunity up. He had waited too long for a case with meaning, and now it was being taken away from him. What was the worst that was going to happen: he probably wouldn’t turn up so early anyway, but if he did then Harry could do his part to protect his friend, the way he always has, the way he was supposed to. Stuffing his invisibility cloak, Dobby’s dagger, a few stolen Replenishing potions and his wand into a small rucksack, his pulled the drawstrings tightly closed and pulled on a jumper.

“This is the one and only time I will remind you,” Malfoy’s haughty voice came wafting through the door, “next time I’m taking your absence as an excuse”, he opened the door, “for a free break – what are you doing?” His eyes narrowed as they swept over the overly packaged bag Harry had clutched to his side. “You’re going somewhere.”

“We’re allowed to leave St. Mungo’s for an hour, Malfoy,” Harry said, trying to push past him, but his body remained as stead as a rock.

“That is correct.” He said, suspicion lacing his tone. “Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” Harry gritted his teeth, hearing the agitation growing in his voice. “I’m going.” Again he tried to push past Malfoy, a little harder than necessary.

Malfoy swayed slightly, only to grip his fingers around Harry’s upper arms to stablise himself. Without any effort at all, he pushed Harry back into his room and clicked the door shut. “You look flustered.” He observed, back firmly against the door.

“I’m having a bad day: lousy hospital food.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the door with a raised eyebrow, not accepting it as an answer. When Harry remained silent, his other eyebrow went up, demanding an explantion.

“Fine.” Harry said, throwing his arms up in the air, the bag falling with a resounding clunk to the floor. “I need to get to the Ministry because I’m tied up here with nothing to do but wait for my magic to be taken away from me and I could lose my magic in less than two days and no one is going to stop me trying to catch this guy before them.” He said, face heating and words becoming sharper and sharper. “Now if you’ll fucking _move_ ,” he spat at Malfoy, trying once again to shove past him.

“You’re on Renford, aren’t you?” He said, his voice as irritatingly calm as ever, as if Harry’s  outburst was nothin more concerning than a child's temper tantrum. Harry’s attempts at trying to get past Malfoy stopped abruptly and his hands fell to his sides.

“That’s not something you’re supposed to know.”

He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of a blabbermouth Shacklebolt is now that he’s retired.” He took a breath and his expression became more serious. “You can’t go.”

Anger spiked in Harry, the red hot hands clutching at his abdomen, sharp fingernails piercing into his skin. “You’re not going to stop me.”

“Renford is a complete nutter - he used to work here, I'd know - and you are in no way able to protect yourself adequately.”

Harry stared defiantly up at Malfoy, _why did he have to be so gorgeous_ , refusing to back down.

“Harry,” Malfoy said, his eyes soft and beseeching. “Please.”

The anger uncurling itself like a vicious python in his stomach sudden disappeared and he was lost, swimming in Malfoy’s eyes, the resonance of his given name combined with such a heartfelt plea striking a beautiful resistance within him. Harry was going crazy. Malfoy was making Harry crazy. He made no move to pick up his bag, so Malfoy peeled himself off the door and bent down to pick it up. “Thank you.”

“Just because you asked so nicely,” Harry muttered to himself, angry that one simple word from Malfoy could quench his spiteful, stubborn plan. He was so pathetic.

“Besides, if you died, the ticket for the LQS would just go to waste.” Malfoy said, smiling at him, and handing him back his bag. “Can’t have that.”

 

-

 

Harry came back from his appointment refreshed; Malfoy had done a soul cleansing task on him to prepare him for the removal of his Crux. Harry was completely blasé about everything now, revelling in the strong sense of calmness the spells had on him. All previous angst regarding Hermione’s success on the Renford case had vanished completely. “Orpheus?” Harry called out, the door to the Broom Closet complaining loudly as it opened.

“Mister Potter,” came a tight voice from within the closet, “On behalf of the Board of Upkeep to the Capital of St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, you have utterly disgraced our job.”

Was this a Howler? Had he been sent a _Howler?_ Harry almost laughed at the absurdity of it – how old were these people?

“You and Healer Malfoy left two of our brooms unattended outside of St. Mungo’s Hospital borders. Not only this, but you broke the rule regarding flying in the hallways.” She spat, and then continued on more calmly, more vindictively. “As for your snake, the possession of pets while at St. Mungo’s Hospital is strictly forbidden, and he will be kept by one of your supervisors until you are ready to leave. Your Healer, Mister D. L. Malfoy will not go unpunished; being affiliated with your complete impudence. Thank you and good day, Mrs Colette Hopkins, Head of the Board of Upkeep to the Capital of St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

The letter suddenly flew from within a dark corner of the closet right in front of Harry’s face and shredded itself into tiny little pieces. Harry blinked, astounded, and made his way back up to Malfoy’s office, climbing stairs two by two and giving absent greetings to passerbys who threw enthusiastic ‘hellos’ at him. He knocked and opened the door himself, his eyebrows drawn in bewilderment. Malfoy was sat behind his desk, his quill scratching noisily against parchment and he looked up at Harry under his eyelashes.

“Anything wrong, Potter?”

“I just got a Howler.” Harry said in almost dazed amazement, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

His lips twitched, and Harry was sure he was trying to fight a smile. “From whom?”

 _“Head of the Board of Upkeep to something about St. Mungo’s”_ , Harry said, imitating her haughty accent with a drawn, puckered face.

“Hopkins? Colette Hopkins?” He asked, and Harry nodded a confirmation.

He grinned again, and turned his attentions back to his parchment. “She’s mental, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“She said _you will not go unpunished_.”

Malfoy snorted, dipping his quill in ink and resuming his scratching. “I’m quivering in terror.” He said, words dripping with sarcasm. “I haven’t heard of Howlers since Hogwarts. Why did she send you one anyway?”

“We left the brooms by the lake yesterday, along with flying in the hallways. She also found about me keeping Orpheus, and she said she’s giving him to one of my ‘supervisors’.” Harry said, taking a seat in front of Malfoy, leaning for the first time against the curve of the stuffed leather.

“I’ll blame you for coaxing me into the flying, just so you know,” he said, hair falling into his eyes that Harry was so helplessly staring at. “As for Orpheus, I’ll get him back for you, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, relieved. “So what are you doing now?”

“Now?” Malfoy asked, looking at him through his eyelashes again. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity?” He shrugged.

“You remember Sophie Wade? I’m writing a referral for her to go to a Mediwizard. Her ailments are out of my reach of knowledge, I’m afraid.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s hand moving across the parchment, with longer, slender fingers grasping at the quill, tendons in his hand twitching at the movement of his thumb and forefinger. The black panther of his wizard tattoo was peeking out from underneath his sleeve. It yawned and disappeared back beneath his robes, to run over the skin Harry fantasised about getting to see.

What would they be once Harry left St. Mungo’s? Would they go about their separate lives, bidding goodbye to the time they spent together, locked in a box of memories to be forgotten about? Harry felt cheated somehow, and he couldn’t place it. If they bumped into each other on the street, would they simply exchange a gruff greeting - a stark, depressing contrast to the depth of conversation Malfoy had given Harry access to. Harry would return to his characterless life, leave behind the person who only ever really made sense. He cursed himself for not realising this sooner, and cursed himself for figuring it out.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Malfoy said, his chin resting atop linked fingers, his eyes flicking over Harry’s face, calculating. There was one thing Harry knew he was going to find out, find out before he inevitably had to leave.

“When should I come back for the Quidditch?”

Malfoy cast a glance at the longcase clock and fixed his eyes back on Harry, digging into him as if he was trying to figure out all of Harry’s motives. “Two hours. Make sure you’re dressed nicely before then.” Harry gulped and Malfoy caught on, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve been pumped full of money by literally everyone in the Wizarding World and you’ve never spent money on a nice robe.”

“I've never had any use for it!” Harry protested. “I hate functions, so I stayed away from them, and Auror robes were provided.”

“Then go, go bloody buy some then, I’m not going out with someone who dresses as a plebeian!”

The words ‘going out with’ weighed heavy on Harry’s mind and he struggled to stop himself from blushing. “I’ll get some from Ron.”

“You will not.” He insisted fiercely. “Judging by what he wore to the Yule…”

“He’s married to Hermione now, he’s had lessons.” He said, feeling defensive for his friend. “Besides, that wasn’t his choice.”

Malfoy sniffed, and Harry rolled his eyes, standing up. “I’m going over to Ron’s regardless.”

“The Floo has changed.” He said, taking on an air of disinterest. “The Ministry’s got complete control of St. Mungo’s and decided our Floo would be better if it was in the centre of the hospital.”

“That’s reasonable, isn’t it?” Harry asked as Malfoy slipped his ridiculously polished black oxford shoes identical to the ones he ruined the day before.

He scowled, walking Harry out his office and down a flight of stairs. “I suppose. It’s just annoying.”

Luckily for Harry, the Floo was much closer to their location - he swore that St. Mungo’s was just a building of stairs. Realising he could have just used his Apparition ring, Harry cursed himself. He was getting a glorious view of Malfoy’s ass from behind. Malfoy’s shoes clapped the ground softly whenever he took a step and Harry couldn’t help but to fall into rhythm with it. Maybe if he straightened himself up like Malfoy, he could be taller as well – it was probably how Malfoy got an extra inch on him. He tested it out and felt decidedly like an idiot.

“Right in here,” Malfoy said, halting abruptly. Really, Harry thought, he should be used to Malfoy’s sudden stops by now.

“Harry Potter,” came a voice from inside. “And Draco Malfoy.”

Harry startled, and scanned his eyes around the room of people until he saw a woman in acid green approaching him with red heels that clicked obnoxiously against the ground. It was obvious that she had been trying to counteract the effects of age, but her skin was nevertheless slightly wrinkled and beginning to sag. Harry would recognize Rita Skeeter anywhere, though.

“Skeeter,” Malfoy greeted coldly and Harry could hear the edge of wariness in his tone.

“Hello Mister Potter. Long time no see,” she said, taking a complete disinterest in Malfoy, her blonde hair darker than what Harry remembered. She extended a heavily jewelled hand and Harry stared at it disdainfully.

“A longer time would have been better.” He muttered, remembering how much he hated this woman. Malfoy made the smallest of snorts and Harry took it as a compliment, before drawing his face shut again.

“What are you doing here, Skeeter?” Malfoy said, his tone exasperated.

“I was collecting information from one of your patients regrading social justice for hybrid animals.” She said, nose raised in the air, in some pathetic attempt to make herself appear more entitled than she was. Her eyes narrowed. “And what are you two doing together?”

“He’s my patient, Skeeter,” he said, struggling to remain civil. It seemed like Harry wasn’t the only one with a lifelong grudge against this woman. 

Harry grimaced. _Don’t tell her anything, Malfoy_. Based on the things she had written about Malfoy himself, not to mention his family, Harry really wasn’t surprised.

“Patient?” Rita said, eyes lighting with interest. “Mind giving me a few lines of what that is like for you, Harry?” She batted her heavily mascared eyelashes at him, about as appealing to him as a pig rolling in mud. “What it is like being in the hands of a former Death Eater, does that frighten you? Scare you?  _Invigorate_ you _?_ "

Harry opened his mouth to spit venom at her; he had very many lines he wanted to give and none were complimentary. He couldn’t believe this woman, after all that Malfoy had done to prove himself and yet she still judged him by the choices he made out of self preservation. “Why, you-“

Malfoy’s cool fingers wrapped gently around his wrist from behind. “Not worth it,” he whispered, silencing the feelings set to words that Harry was ripping out of his chest just like that. “Ignore her.” Harry swallowed and nodded, sweeping past Rita, whose ever present Quick Quills notebook was scratching poison furiously into its pages. Malfoy followed him to the Floo across the room, ignoring the eyes that pretended they weren’t watching them. They were all probably thinking the same thing; the name Malfoy had a connotation of evil, everyone knew that as common knowledge. Harry took a pinch of Floo Powder that lay in a heap in a pot by the fireplace, and stepped in. Malfoy took a step closer, smiling and keeping his voice low and soft. “If she stays, let’s just say it’s a good thing we’re in a hospital.”

Harry laughed softly, “I didn’t hear anything.” He took a step back and glanced over his pointy shoulder at Rita, who was still standing there, staring unguardedly at the two of them.

“Okay, go, before you become a witness to crime.”

Shaking his head in amusement, he released the powder, uttering the name of his destination, and watched the green flames engulf his shoes before he was being transported to the Burrow.

Stepping into the warm homeliness of the Weasley’s home, Harry dusted off the white chalky ash that stuck to his jeans from the fireplace.

“Dad!” Teddy came rushing at him, his hair a startling colour. He ran straight into Harry, his little arms wrapping around Harry’s waist. “You’ve been away for so long, are you back for good now?” He asked, his large brown eyes staring up at him hopefully.

Harry sunk his hand into his Godson’s hair and sifted his fingers through the silky, purple strands. “I’m sorry, Teddy,” he said, and felt crushed as he watched the glimmer of hope in his eyes fade. “I’ll be back before you know it though, my Healer’s really great.”

“Hermie did say she got you the best Healer.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Teddy, you know Hermione doesn’t like being called Hermie.” Ginny said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Ginny,” Harry smiled at her and beckoned her over to give her a hug. Since joining the Holyhead Harpies three years back, Ginny wore her hair in a pixie cut and it looked really good on her. “How are you?” He asked, one hand resting on Teddy’s shoulder, the other around Ginny’s.

“Tired but managing,” she smiled, ushering Teddy away. “What about you? Ron came home in a fit of rage when he found out Hermione had appointed Draco as your Healer.”

Harry almost rolled his eyes – he really didn’t want to go over the ‘no, Malfoy’s good now’ speech. “Please, let’s not do this.”

“What, the ‘Draco isn’t going to cut out your liver and feed it to his pet demonic snake’ bit?” She grinned. “I’ve gathered that much all by myself.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“We’re quite good friends actually. He’s quite tolerable once you get past the short temper, sardonic humour, outrageous self-entitlement and the cynicism.” Ginny grinned. This was news to Harry and all he could do was gape at her. Ginny laughed, hitting his shoulder. “You look like a fish. He talks about you a lot, which I’m not sure he’s supposed to do.”

“He does?” Harry asked, almost cringing at the childlike hopeful tone in his voice or the way he could feel his eyes light up.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m not feeding Captain Obvious’ crush.”

Harry flushed bright red. “I don’t have a crush,” he said, but the words sounded feeble even to him.

“Okay,” she smiled. “Sure you don’t.”

“Did I hear Harry?” Ron said, bounding loudly down the stairs, right in time, saving him from having to explain himself.

“Right in here,” Harry yelled, and Ron rounded the corner to give Harry a hearty embrace.

“Hey, Harry.” He smiled. “Are you here early for Quidditch?”

Harry pulled his lips back to show his teeth in a regretful face. “Sorry, no. I’m actually here to raid your library, again.” He was disappointing a lot of people today, apparently.

 

-

 

Trying to finding what he was looking for was turning out to be a huge waste of time and Harry was wondering if he would ever actually find a relevant article within this plethora of information. Maybe he’d have to beat it out of Malfoy – force him to tell him what exactly colours coming out of a piano meant. But Malfoy told him to go look for it, and his curiosity and determination were weighing heavier than his demoralization. He had set Harry down a path of thirst for knowledge and Harry could almost feel his grey eyes watching, smirking as Harry danced like a puppet down the lane on a quest to understand the things Malfoy teased him with.

“Can I help you with anything?” Ron asked, who was sitting in a comfortably large arm chair with a cup of tea, sorting through Hermione’s files and ordering them for her and passing the expired works to Teddy for him to shred.

Harry made a distressed noise, slamming the final book shut. “You wouldn’t know, it doesn’t matter.”

Ron’s left shoulder jerked a little, and he frowned at Harry, offense written on his face.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Sorry. That was harsh.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, sliding a thumb into the folder he was currently organizing and closing the cover. “Hermione told me what you’re getting done in two days.”

Harry sat with his legs spread, a stack of books between them, back slouched in defeat. “Malfoy says I’ll be fine.”

“Forgive me for not trusting his word,” he said bitterly, taking a sip of his tea, his fingers wrapped around the cup. “I can’t help but be suspicious - especially with you.”

“I thought you said you were fine with him being my Healer.”

“Yes, I am, but not with him taking away your magic.” He said, whispering the last part so Teddy didn’t hear.

Harry sighed. “Please actually have a conversation with him before drawing judgements.” That advice really wasn’t the best Harry had ever given, seeing as Malfoy would probably be no nicer to Ron than he was to most people.

“I have had conversations with him before, Harry!” He said, becoming indignant. “All of which were insulting and unkind.”

“That was over ten years ago!” Ron looked down into his teacup, scowling. “I still don’t like it.”

Teddy’s paper shredding was too loud in the room as Harry refused to answer, cool air drifting in through an open window. Usually, silence was something Harry welcomed with open arms like it was rain after the drought, but never when it came to friends. He never knew what the other was thinking. It would linger like a shadow and stretched thicker and thicker, until Ron spoke again.

“Well what are you trying to find out, anyway?”

Harry glanced at Ron. This was how things were with them. They never really reached a resolve with anything – both too stubborn to admit that the other had genuine feelings as well that required acknowledgement that they were both too obstinate to recognize. He blinked. “I want to know why colours come out of the piano, and only I can seem to see them.”

“That won’t be in any of the books you’re looking in, I’ll tell you that much.” Arthur Weasley said, coming into the room, leaning on a walking stick. He hobbled slowly over to a bookshelf and pulled out a light purple book, passing it to Harry. “You okay, my boy?” He asked, affection in his eyes.

“I am, Mr. Weasley, thank you.” Harry said, taking the book. “It’s good to see you again. What happened to your leg?”

He sat heavily onto a chair beside Ron, putting his leg up on a stool. “Bad fall down the staircase,” he explained. “But I’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”

Harry nodded, flicking the book open and scanning down the contents page.

“Does this mean you’re staying for Quidditch, tonight, Harry?” He asked. “You can take my place. Teddy’s become a rather excellent Seeker. I think he’s waiting to surprise you.”

Harry found musical phenomenon and scanned across until he saw it marked under page 312. “I’m afraid I’m busy tonight, but I’ll make sure to come next week.” He scanned the article for words that jumped out as something that might be about what he wanted to know. Turning the page, immediately he was presented with a drawing of a violin with colours flowing from it. Excited, he flicked his eyes over the text, slowing gradually as he began to absorb the information properly.

_Seeing music as colour is known to Muggles as Chromesthesia, and although Muggles have come up with numerous theories as to why this occurs, coloured hearing will only affect witches or wizards who are being mentioned in the piece. If the Witch or Wizard is to see colour, it is because the piece being played is directly connected to them by the player. A subtle method for hypnotism, this was a form of bending the wishes of many lovers, but as we have evolved this is not nearly as effective as it once was. A strong connection must be established before one can see music, as the music needs something to pass from one person to the next along._

Harry snapped the book shut, his heart racing. What did that mean - a connection? He didn’t dare ask. Malfoy had been playing to him, sending colours to him via a connection?

“What are you doing Harry?” Teddy asked, crawling over to Harry and he shut the book.

“Satisfying my curiosity,” he said, smiling at Teddy, whose hair was now a gentle colour of burnt orange.

“I wish you could stay for Quidditch,” he said sadly. “You should see me, I’ve got really good.” Teddy crawled into Harry’s lap, pressing his face into Harry’s shoulder. From that angle, he looked an awful lot like his mother and Harry felt a twinge of sadness. His parents would have done a fine job raising him, Harry was sure of it, and he felt rather inadequate to what Teddy could have had.

“I promise I’ll stay for next week’s,” he said, smiling down and pressing his nose into Teddy’s soft hair.

“If you don’t die,” Ron muttered, staring down at the pieces of heavily scripted papers in his hand.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “It can’t kill me, Ron.”

“Not the operation I’m talking about.” He replied, spite thick in his voice.

“What’s this?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Ron thinks my Healer’s trying to kill me.” Harry said quickly, fierily, despite Ron's intense stares telling him not to.

“He’s got Malfoy.” Ron retorted, just as quickly.

Mr. Weasley’s scraggly eyebrows shot up, clearly he hadn’t been told, but if he felt any horror he masked it well. “Ronald I should remind you it is not right to have Harry’s godson inherit negative views regarding his own family from the people he lives with.”

Ron scowled, but didn’t say anything else.

“I don’t mind,” Teddy said, his usually loud voice uncharacteristically soft, “he never wants to see me anyway.”

“That’s _not_ true,” Harry told him, leaning back to look him in the eye. “I’ve talked to him about it, the reason he never invited you over is out of respect for you.”

“Respect for me?”

“You don’t know about what happened where he lives?” Harry asked, sure he was already saying too much, things that he was probably being protected from. Ron’s and Mr. Weasley’s eyes were on him and Teddy, giving no signs as to whether Harry should continue or not, no matter how had Harry tried to read their expressions.

Teddy shook his head. “I didn’t think you wanted me to know.”

Harry hugged him tighter, sliding a thumb up and down his arm. “Malfoy assumed you knew, I think. He didn’t think you’d particularly fancy being in a place like that.”

“A place like what, Harry?” He asked, his expressive, doleful eyes staring up at Harry.

The words Harry had in his head sounded too heavy to be saying to a child, but he reminded himself that when he was roughly the same age, he fought Voldemort and a DADA professor. “It was home to Voldemort, and his followers.”

“Draco’s family followed Voldemort, didn’t they?” Teddy asked.

Harry drew a sharp breath, entering territory that he wasn’t sure he wanted to enter. “Yes… but Draco himself isn’t like that.” He listened closely for the expected ‘once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater’ from Ron, but it didn’t come. “Anyway, I’ll bring it up with him tonight.”

“Where are you doing tonight?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy’s taking me to the LQS tonight,” Harry smiled, thoroughly enjoying the shock on his friends face.

 

-

 

Harry needed robes. Malfoy would probably own three pairs of every set he had and here Harry was with nothing but cheap Muggle clothing that had probably extended past its socially acceptable keeping date. He figured Malfoy would turn up in something ridiculously expensive and twice as expensive shoes, because apparently even something as watching a Quidditch game required formal dress. Whenever Harry had gone to watch Quidditch matches, he was always being a rowdy crowd member, screaming and pushing and hugging random strangers whenever his team won, so expensive clothing would have been wasted. It made him wonder what calm, controlled, Malfoy-style Quidditch viewing would be like.

“Good luck on your date,” Ginny said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen and playing coy.

Harry flushed bright red and turned away from Ginny to hide it. “It’s _not_ a date. It’s Malfoy.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t date him because he’s Draco?” Ginny asked, walking over to Harry. “Because I thought that was precisely what you were defending him for.”

“No, Ginny, I was defending him against Ron’s prejudice, not whether I want to date him,” Harry said quickly, trying to get a hold of his tongue, “and can you stop calling him Draco, it’s really, really weird.”

She cocked her head. “You’re just jealous because I’m on a first name basis with him and you’re not.”

Harry was going to _growl_. He let out a sound of frustration. “No! I’m not jealous! I’ve never been on a first name basis with him. Have him, take him, I don’t care.” He turned, grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, the name of his destination on his lips when –

“- Where are you going?”

Harry bit his lip, wanting desperately to just go, leave this insufferable humiliation. “I’m going to pick up some robes.” He told her.

“Great!” She said, and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. “I’ll come with you.”

“Ginny, thanks, but I don’t think you know anything about nice men's robes.”

“Rubbish. _De gustibus non est disputandum_ – in matters of taste, there is no argument.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Did Malfoy teach you that one?”

She smiled widely. “ _Draco_ did teach me that one, yes.”

 

-

 

“Put it back, Harry, look at the seams.” Ginny said, already holding five or so robes slung over her left arm, and flicking through the racks with her right.

“But look at the cinches. And the belt that comes with it is really nice. And look – the buttons are Opal.”

“You’re not proving to me that you’re heterosexual right now, Harry.” She muttered.

“I never claimed to be.” Harry retorted, putting the robe back with a scowl.

“You did before.”

“Yes, and if you go ‘before’ far enough I was unable to walk on two feet and couldn’t eat with a spoon, so your argument’s invalid.” He said, picking up a nice deep red coloured robe. “How about this one?”

Ginny shook her head again, adding another robe to the pile on her arm. "He'll say something about it being too Gryfindorish."

Harry sighed and turned to Ginny, throwing his hands up in the air. “We’ve been here for over half an hour, and I don’t even like any you’ve picked out for me. They’re all so… _plain_.”

Ginny flicked her eyes up to him, stared at him and then looked back to the rack of clothes in front of her. “If you’re trying to impress Draco, you want plain and you want a minimum of exquisite quality.”

Harry had to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from bursting out loud with something regrettable. Was he that obvious? “Ginny,” he said, through gritted teeth, “Ginevra,” he added sweetly, when Ginny didn’t look at him. “I’m not trying to impress him.”

She sniffed. “You’re a bad liar. And don’t call me Ginevra. Mum calls me that when she’s trying to guilt me into doing something.” She threw out her arm to Harry, the mountain of clothes lying there tempting to slip off. “Try these on.”

Harry screwed up his nose distastefully at the bland colours. He didn’t see the point of formal wear being the same colour as his everyday clothes. But he supposed Ginny knew Malfoy better than he did, so he forced himself to trust her. He went into the changing rooms, feeling rather pathetic that he was putting this much effort into going out – not like that – fuck you Ginny - with Malfoy. Quidditch shouldn’t be tamed and the audience should definitely not sit still, in silence, to watch their teams flying around a stadium in complete nonchalance. But he supposed, there was a first experience for everything and he was curious as to what Malfoy would be like to watch Quidditch with. Ginny had picked out six different dress robes for him. One was completely black, but it reminded Harry too much of Hogwarts, so he immediately put it to one side of the dressing room. She had picked out two greys, a deep, rich green, and a slightly-less-than-navy blue. He supposed he could always use a Glamour charm on them if he had to, if he liked all aspects of a robe – though it would be a miracle if he actually happened to like any of these on – and one thing wasn’t good. He loved magic.

 

-

 

Harry wasn’t ready to admit defeat as he stared at himself in the mirror – he did really like Ginny’s choice of navy blue. It had deep sleeves, with green embroidery of delicate snakes around the cuffs. The black pants were neatly cut and the grey upper was clinched at the waist with three columns of buttons that ran neatly down Harry’s chest. A chain, presumably connected to a pocket watch, dipped towards his navel, then back up again to hide away in the folds of his robes.

“Harry? Are you done? You’ll need to go back to St. Mungo’s soon if you still want to go.” Ginny called, and then stuck her head through the curtains a moment later. “Oh. You look good.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, self consciously stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking down, feeling scrutinised.

“Let me fix your hair real quick,” she said, and then her wand was out and she’d cast a spell before Harry could tell her not to. He spun around to face the mirror – his hair was now tamed in a way Harry had never been able to achieve before, it was shinier and was pushed back off his forehead. He felt like he should complain, tell her off for doing that without his permission, but he wanted to thank her. Why had he never tried Glamour charms before? “Ginny…” Harry started, unsure how to thank her for her efforts.

She waved a hand in the air. “Thank me later.”

So instead Harry turned around and hugged her tight.

“Excuse me,” said a woman with long dark hair and too much makeup, peeking through the curtains. “We can’t allow more than one to a stall. Either one of you must vacate the stall or you must finish your shopping here.”

“We’re done, anyway.” Ginny said, her loud, boisterous voice slapping offense on the woman’s face. “Come on, Harry,” she said, pushing her way past the scowling woman. “Let’s pay.”

Quickly changing into his other clothes, Harry opened the curtains and looked at the scowling woman awkwardly, not knowing whether he should take the other robes out. He timidly pushed past her as well, catching something she was muttering to herself about manners. Harry made his way over to Ginny, wading through the racks of expensive, tailored robes, feeling completely out of place in his cheap Muggle clothes. There was a young blonde woman behind the counter, who had obviously recognized Ginny from the team she played for, engaging her in an animated conversation about Quidditch. It felt nice not to be the person with blank pieces of paper being stuffed under their nose for once, and he felt proud of Ginny that she made her fame herself, unlike Harry. He picked up the velvet coat hanger his robes hung from, picking out the price tag, eyes bulging. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money, but honestly, was this really worth that much - for something whose sole purpose was to cover the skin? Putting it down quickly, Harry swallowed and looked over at Ginny, who smiled at him.

“Lydia!” The scowling woman from before came out of nowhere, smacking Lydia on the back of the head. “I’ve told you countless times it is completely improper to engage the customers in conversation. How many times do I have to tell you before it gets into your thick skull?” She hit her again.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Ginny said coldly, stopping her from saying anymore, “then surely you know it is completely improper to abuse your employees?”

The woman turned on her, the heels she was wearing giving her a good head or so on Ginny. Her eyes were narrowed, and her thin arching eyebrows were raised. Her mouth remained in a thin, pressed line.

Ginny raised her chin, staring right back at the woman. “We would like to carry on with our purchasing, thank you.” She turned back to the young woman behind the counter, smiling. “If you’re any good on a broom, the Harpies are scouting for emergency players, if you want to get away from this troll.”

She flushed bright red, bowing her head, refusing to meet her employer’s blazing, furious eyes. “I only fly for fun, really, I’m sure I’m not good enough.” She said softly, but the way she looked at Ginny from under her eyelashes told a different story.

“Is that all?” The woman snapped, taking the robes lying on the polished marble counter.

Harry nodded at her. “Please send it through to my Gringott’s account.”

“And whose name shall I be retrieving the payment under?”

Harry smiled brightly. “Harry Potter,” he said, and the woman’s eyes snapped up to his. She hadn’t given time to examine who her customers were, and her reaction was worth her unpleasantness.

“I’ll send through a confirmation tomorrow.”

He slid the robes off the counter and bundled them against his chest. The woman took a sharp intake of breath at the treatment of expensive material, but remained silent. “Good luck at the try-outs, Lydia.” He said, pinching Ginny’s red coat sleeve, signalling his leaving.

“They’re at the Central this Wednesday,” Ginny called over her shoulder as she followed Harry out of the glass paned door, the bell on the door chiming loudly.

 

-

 

Ginny dropped Harry off at St. Mungo’s, and Harry showered faster than he had ever showered before, making sure to keep his hair out of the water. Drying off quickly, he slipped into his robes, patting himself down and checking himself over in the mirror, before opening the door and bumping straight into Malfoy. Harry made a noise of displeasure, putting his hands out to stop himself colliding into Malfoy for about the third time since he had been at St. Mungo’s. He was dressed in a charcoal grey suit with an emerald chain connecting one collar to the other, shoes shined and gold cufflinks at the ends of his ivory shirt. He looked ridiculously effortless and completely gorgeous and all of a sudden Harry felt very insecure. When Harry met his eyes, Malfoy was already looking down at him, eyes searching.

“You got proper clothing, did you?” He said, without a single glance at Harry’s attire. Harry struggled to stop himself from blushing, looking away from Malfoy in attempt to mask his nervousness.

“Just now, yeah.” _A strong connection must be established before one can see music_  - the words played in his head and the way Malfoy looked down at him in a completely peaceful way only seemed to bring them to life.

“I got your snake back for you,” Malfoy said, pushing his sleeve back to reveal a small, brown snake. He began to unwrap Orpheus from it, and passed it to Harry. “’Kept by one of your supervisors’ is a very loose term.” He looked down at the golden open watch now visible on his wrist and pulled his sleeve back down. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now. Are you ready?”

Harry nodded, straightening his collar and walking by Malfoy to the new Floo.

 _Corn-head stole me, Harry_. Orpheus said, mischievously. _Walked right in, found me in a desk, and took me out._

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Stole? Malfoy?”

_Someone else caught him doing it, but I don’t understand what they said, he sniffed. I’m a snake._

“You stole Orpheus?” Harry hissed at Malfoy, who was now trotting down the stairs, shoes making unapologetically loud clapping sounds against them.

He shrugged, smirking. “I said I’d get him back for you. You seem to like the little bastard.”

“He calls you Corn-head,” Harry shot.

“Corn-head?” Malfoy repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice, turning down into what used to be a lounge room. “That’s a new one.”

 _Yes,_ Orpheus continued, _then he waved his magic wand at some papers and got rid of some charges under your name._

“Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed, mouth wide open. “Did you clear me of the charges that Hopkins woman gave me?”

He shrugged again, taking a pinch of the glittering Floo Powder and passing the pot to Harry. “Well, you weren’t really supposed to know that. But yes. As well as my own.”

“Malfoy, you can’t do that.” Harry hissed softly.

“Oh, no one will know.” He said, waving a hand in the air. “Colette’s mental anyway, no one takes those rules seriously.”

Harry really felt like he should be the one breaking the rules, being the Gryffindor, and Malfoy being the one to uphold them, but apparently those stereotypes were wrong in this regard. He shook his head, taking the Floo Powder into the palm of his hand. “Should I be thanking you?” He asked, watching Malfoy bend his head to step into the fireplace.

“Yes.” He said, throwing the Powder down and disappearing in his clearly accentuated words and green fire.

 _You look good today. So does Corn-head._ Orpheus said.

“Was that a compliment?” Harry asked, stepping into the fireplace and disappearing after Malfoy.

 

-

 

Harry stepped from the gates, brushing himself down. The walls were a deep, red velvet and the carpet had patterns that wove a story all along the pathway. The ceiling, like Hogwarts, was enchanted to look like a starry sky and Harry stared up in it in awe. He had spent years and years in the presence of magic, and yet none of it ceased to amaze him. Hundreds of people, most very casually dressed, Harry noticed, bustled excitedly along, little children running around their parent’s legs with bright, happy faces. Harry swept his eyes over them, looking for one person in particular. Malfoy wasn’t hard to find – dressed in his suit that really made him look good – radiating self importance, his imposing stance making him stand out from everyone else. Harry spotted him standing with his hands in his pockets on the opposite wall, two Network Doors down from him. He crossed quickly, trying his hardest to be polite while pushing through the sea of forward moving people. “What is this place?” He asked, once he reached Malfoy.

“Underground of the Stadium,” he said. “Have you never been here before?”

“Two years ago,” Harry replied. It was to see Ginny play, actually. “But we used a Port Key and it took us straight to the grounds.”

Malfoy nodded and smiled at him, tugging at his sleeve, entering the swarm of bustling people. “I do like your clothing choice,” he said, Harry struggling to hear him over the roar of the people around him.

“Thank you. Ginny chose it.” He replied. “She seemed to know an awful lot about you.”

“Oh?” He grinned. “Why is that?”

"She said you're friends."

"Ah," he said. "She owes me two galleons, then." He glanced at Harry's face, and explained, "we made a bet that whoever told someone first would have to pay. Apparently she's forgotten, but I haven't."

They were met with a dirty stone set of wide set stairs, light pouring in from the top. Harry could just hear the Wasps theme song being blasted by a pair of trumpets. Enchanted fireworks were flying everywhere of golden wasps, all sighing a buzz of the Wasps anthem into the air. Suddenly, a swarm of navy blue engulfed the golden sparks, chanting their own theme “Beat back those Bludgers, Boys, and chuck that Quaffle here” religiously. People from the crowd, dressed head to toe in navy blue began to bellow along.

“It would seem you’re supporting Puddlemere today,” Malfoy commented.

“I forgot about that.” Harry said, his explanation being cut off as he reached the top of the stairs, the excited energy of the stadium overwhelming him. He used to think that he’d quite like to be a professional player for the Cannons, a Chaser maybe, not a Seeker, and that childish dream never really left him. Everyone was smiling, laughter bubbling in the air, people excitedly checking their tickets and holding on tightly to their bags. The stadium was bigger than he remembered, with a darkening night sky almost identical in colour to Harry’s robes hanging over the open roof.

“Potter, I must remind you that it is not a good idea to stop right in the middle of a sea of moving people.” Malfoy said, his voice soft and close to Harry’s ear. His fingers closed around Harry’s wrist, and he was being tugged away from the crowd’s general direction and down a smaller, darker pathway.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, Malfoy’s hand hot and heavy on his wrist. Without reply, he turned a corner until they were facing a sign with big block letters reading ‘VIP ACCESS, REQUIRES IDENTIFICATION FOR ENTRANCE.’ Confused, Harry watched as Malfoy tapped his wand to the sign, for a very short, smiling woman to appear. Malfoy’s voice was lowered and turned away from him, and Harry had no idea what he was saying, but then the woman let down a ward, and Malfoy gave him a smile and led him through. The passageway led to an elevator, which Malfoy pressed the glowing down button on. “I didn’t know they started using Muggle technology here,” Harry mused.

“Unfortunately,” Malfoy said. “I can’t say I’m that fond of it.”

“Remind me never to take you to see any horror film, then.” Harry chuckled to himself, his amusement only increasing at the confusion on Malfoy’s face.

The elevator made a dinging noise and the doors parted, leaving Malfoy to screw up his face and step on gingerly to the platform. Grinning, Harry jumped boisterously in, enjoying the discomfort written on Malfoy’s face. He knew the chances of the elevator breaking down were very, very low, and held no fear whatsoever. They were wizards anyway; they’d be fine. Malfoy pressed number 24, and the odd floaty feeling in Harry’s stomach that he’d admit to never being too fond of either set itself in place. Malfoy was staring up at the illuminated numbers along the top of the elevator, each one lighting up and getting closer to 24.

“I hate the mirrors in here.” Malfoy confessed, still staring up at the faded buttons.

Harry stared at him, waiting for him to meet his eye, and burst out laughing.

Malfoy looked at him indignantly. “What, Potter? Are you laughing at me?”

“Kind of,” Harry admitted, affection taking hold of his heart, refusing to let him stop smiling.

Malfoy frowned and turned away, staring back up at the numbers that were fast approaching their destination. “Rude,” he muttered quietly.

“It’s just,” Harry began, short bursts of amusement interrupting him here and there, “of all the things to hate about elevators, you choose the mirrors?”

Malfoy shrugged, folding his arms defensively. “I do not like how I appear in elevator mirrors. They must do something odd to them - something about the lighting or angel of the mirrors."

“Malfoy,” Harry started, shaking his head and this dork, unable to finish his sentence because of how endearing he found him. The elevator came to a lurching halt, and both Harry and Malfoy grabbed at the rails on the side.

“We have arrived at level twenty-four,” said a very robotic female voice over the intercom. “Please enjoy your stay here and please ensure nothing is left behind. Anything unclaimed within a week will go straight to charity.”

Malfoy stepped out gladly from the elevator, the doors closing behind them for the elevator to shoot back down. Harry followed him as he turned right and up stairs carpeted in the same red velvet as the underground, only much less worn and much more clean. Harry noted a sign on the wall with an arrow directing upwards, labelled BOX SEATS UP AHEAD. Harry stared in amazement, his eyes popped wide and mouth hanging open stupidly in the air. “You… you got us Box tickets?”

“Of course I did Potter, who do you think I am?”

Harry stared in amazement at Malfoy as he began walking up the stairs. “You confuse me, Draco Malfoy,” he admitted.

He turned, smiling down at Harry with the kind of smile that made you feel happy just to be alive and just that little bit more human. “The feeling’s mutual.”

 

-

 

It turned out, not only had Malfoy booked the Box, but he had booked it out for the two of them. Harry’s eyes bulged at the view of the stadium, a sea of blue and gold filling the stadium stands, the grass greener than ever. The box was cold, with a black carpet and chairs with golden upholstering. The Box was very clean, sharply cut and it suited Malfoy very well, who stood in the centre, looking completely at home in the dimly lit, glass walled box. He drifted over to a dark cabinet, pulling two bottles of Ogden’s Finest out. Harry sat in one of the baroque styled chairs, finding it far more comfortable than it looked. He placed his arms on the arms of the chair, the gently quite sound of Malfoy presumably pouring them two glasses easily heard over the muted buzz of excitement from the stands. “It’s so different from up here,” Harry said, as Malfoy came to sit beside him, handing him a glass of the Firewhiskey.

Malfoy nodded. “I prefer it, away from the raucousness. Everybody becomes completely uncivilised.”

“I think it’s just excitement,” Harry said, still captured by the view. “That and friendliness.”

“Excitement is uncivilised.” He said, taking a sip from his glass.

Harry threw him a look, but found it hard to put anything behind it. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been excited.”

“Of course I’ve been excited,” he said, looking so damn attractive with one leg crossed over the other, ankle turning in a circle, a heavy heirloom-looking gold ring on a finger that traced the rim of his glass. Harry swallowed. “However, when I’m excited, I manage to retain my dignity.” He sniffed.

“If you had to choose between keeping your dignity or your soul,” Harry laughed, “I think you’d sell your soul and chuck in your left arm just for good measure.”

His upper lip twitched in amusement. “Quiet, Potter. They’re going to start soon.”

Sure enough, a burst of gold appeared in a long line onto the Quidditch pitch, and one half of the stadium began to scream and stamp their feet.

“Want to make a bet, Potter?” Malfoy asked, leaning to Harry’s side on his elbow.

“I’m no good at bets.” He said.

He cocked his head. “You’ve got more luck than the rest of us.”

“I think I’ve used it all up, frankly,” Harry said, finally meeting Malfoy’s eye.

“Well,” he said, turning his attention back to the pitch, where masses and masses of fireworks in the shape of wasps were flying into the audience and exploding everywhere, distributing sweets into the laps of whoever they exploded above. “Puddlemere’s Beater is going to wreck the Wasps.”

“You sound confident.” Harry noted interestedly.

“I’m always confident.” Harry snorted softly, so softly that Malfoy probably didn’t hear. Malfoy wasn’t arrogant, he had decided, but he was definitely ridiculously self assured. “For the sake of competition,” Harry said, deciding to take a sip of the Firewhiskey, which was really very good, (what else to expect from Malfoy?), “shall I bet on the Wasps?”

“If you don’t mind losing,” he said, waving his gloved hand in the air and a bowl of what appeared to be honey roasted almonds flew over to them, placing itself down on a glass pane atop four black legs in front of them.

Another burst of cheering, louder than before, erupted from the other side of the stadium as the Puddlemere team came in, all standing on a huge blue rod, floating slowly, silently and solidly through the air, the wasps disappearing, a darkness clouding over the stadium. The Puddlemere team were dancing almost, in perfect sync, their faces in deep concentrations as they flawlessly executed their ritualistic looking performance. Suddenly there was a crack of lighting, pouring in seven strikes down to the blue rod. Harry squinted his eyes – it wasn’t lightning at all! It was only their brooms – luminescent white brooms, a jagged ray of blinding white light streaming from them. In the blink of an eye, the Puddlemere team mounted their brooms and set off, circling around the stadium. The crowd burst out in cheering once more, and Harry could see even the Wasps supporters were clapping too.

Harry put his Firewhiskey down, taking an almond between his thumb and forefinger and putting it in his mouth. “How did you even manage to get the Box?”

He shrugged.“Blackmail.”

Harry frowned, and it concerned him slightly that he didn’t know whether Malfoy was joking or not. “Malfoy…”

“I’m kidding, you ponce,” he said.

Harry huffed, crossing his arms, annoyed that he had been fooled. “I can never understand you.”

Malfoy took an almond too, dragging the table closer to the both of them. “All it is connections. You make a lot of them when you’re repenting.”

Harry didn’t know what he was going to say, but he felt like he needed to say something, even though his input would have been entirely un-necessary. But any words that he would have said were cut off, as the booming voice of the commentator startled both up to look out on the field. He stood, making his way to the edge of the Box, putting both hands onto the railing. He wondered if the Glamour charm had kept up, but he felt Malfoy’s eyes on his back and dared not to touch to see. “Aren’t you going to watch?” Harry asked, looking at Malfoy over his shoulder.

“I’m not so good with heights.” Harry turned around fully, leaning against the railing.

“You order the Top Box, but you’re scared of heights?”

He scowled. “I am not _scared,_ Potter.” He pulled his gloves off, turning to the back to refill his glass, asking Harry with a raise of an eyebrow if he wanted more. Since when did Harry become so in tune with Malfoy language? _A strong connection must be established_ – Harry thought, the tiny words managing to imprint themselves into his memory like they were an elephant wearing boots.

Malfoy came back with another glass for himself and dragged the chair closer to Harry, turning a knob on the wall and the commentators’ volume went down drastically. He sat, folding his gloves into his pocket. “I can’t stand that man.”

Harry chuckled. “No reason?”

He nodded. “He creeps me out.”

Harry pulled his chair closer to Malfoy, catching a whiff of something sharp and pleasant - was Malfoy wearing cologne? It was really incredibly, Harry decided, watching a Quidditch match from up here. He could see everything and everyone and all expanses of the field. Players were shooting everywhere, robes of gold and navy blue billowing everywhere, the stadium lights beaming down on them.

“Found the snitch,” Malfoy muttered to Harry.

Harry narrowed his eyes – how could he have possibly found the snitch from here? He tried to search for it feverishly, looking for that incredibly annoying golden ball, vacillating between its direction and tempting the players tempers. “Remind me never to invite you to the Burrow. Or at least never let you play Seeker.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do remember you saying something about Friday Quidditch at the Weasley’s.”

“Teddy plays Seeker against me, anyway.” Harry said, as half the crowd cheered when Puddlemere’s Beater swung his broom at the Quaffle, whacking it off in the other direction, proving Malfoy’s assumption right. Malfoy smirked, looking evilly pleased with himself. Bastard knew he was right. A Wasps player flew past the Box at an enormous speed, waving and grinning at Harry and Malfoy as he went. Harry smiled. “I was over there today by the way,” he continued. “Teddy thinks you want nothing to do with him.”

Malfoy kept his face staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Harry’s eye, the game raging outside, completely separate to the two of them. “You know the reason for that.”

“You could go see him at my house or at the Burrow any time you’d like,” Harry offered hopefully.

He twitched ever so slightly, but Harry saw it. “Well I’m sure if I’d tried that weeks ago, I think you would have punched me while shouting sentences largely constructed of obscenities.” He said, taking a larger sip of his drink. “Worse from the Weasley’s.”

Harry made a guilty face. “You’re probably right," he admitted regretfully.

“It’s not like it’s without justification, though.” Malfoy said. “If our situations were reversed, I would have done worse.”

Harry wished Malfoy would look at him, and the game was merely background noise now. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to pour as much sincerity into his voice as he could. Malfoy made a surprised noise, his eyes snapping to Harry’s. “But you’re welcome at my house, any time you want to see Teddy.” He said, wanting to add _or me_ on the end, trying to extend the inevitable end of their friendship based purely on unlikely circumstance.

The golden buzzing of the snitch stopped right outside the glass, and Harry gasped, staring and pointing. Two lightly built people were hurtling towards that indecisive golden ball, pressed shoulder to shoulder, determination tightening their muscles. They reminded him quite a lot of Malfoy and himself during their school days when Malfoy was on the Slytherin team. Harry never quite understood why people said he bought his way onto the team – there were a lot of dirty tricks that Malfoy had played that were all true, but he didn’t think his father buying his son’s way onto the team was one of them. Sure, his father’s contribution to Slytherin house must have motivated them to let him on the team – but Malfoy was good, better than him at times. He proved himself as an equally capable player, so Harry thought that it wasn’t only his father who found him a place amongst the ranks of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

The Seekers very nearly crashed into the glass wall in attempt to get possession of the snitch, and Harry flinched, noticing that Malfoy remained perfectly still and unconcerned. However, the snitch had already bolted away and the Seekers tumbled down messily, trying to regain control of their brooms.

“Reminds me of us,” Malfoy said over the top of his glass.

Harry reached for another almond and laughed. “I was thinking that too.” He smiled and Harry bit down on the almond, the fresh crack under his teeth strangely satisfying. “So how do you know Ginny, anyway?”

“She left the explanation up to me, did she?” Malfoy said, his eyes flicking from one player to the next, smirking every time the Puddlemere Beater protected the goals with unmatched agility and strength. “How like her.”

Harry wanted to know, why, then, did he ask how Ginny and he were doing if he must have already known? He was trying to search for possible explanations in his head, but he was coming up with nothing and it was frustrating. He decided to let it go, and blame it on him not wanting to allude to the fact that he and Ginny were friends. Even thinking that Malfoy and Ginny were friends sparked the possessive nature within him, and he told himself sternly that that he was being pathetic. Malfoy didn’t belong to him.

“She came to St. Mungo’s after a nasty fall off her broom, and we didn’t recognize each other,” he explained. “You know, she had her hair all short, so I can blame it on that but I really don’t think I look all that different from when we went to school together.” Harry would beg to disagree. “We became friends, without knowing each other’s names. She just called me Healer and I didn’t address her by name and I was too arrogant at the time to look at the file. She was angry when she found out mine,” he admitted. “It was okay, though. She came to.”

Harry laughed. “Of course. Why does that story just sound something so typical of you two?”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you two like each other, though.”

“That’s reassuring to know my friends actually like me.” He said. Then, "hold on, does that mean when you asked me about Ginny before, you already knew the answer?"

Malfoy smiled, and had the good graces to at least look sheepish. "Yes."

"Why?" Harry said incredulously.

"I was simply making conversation, I think."

Harry shook his head in amusement.

There was a loud whistle that rang out across the grounds and an uproar or noise started from the stands. A Wasps player was on the field grass, cradling his arm, his face red and trying to withhold tears. Two people dressed in the green robes of St. Mungo’s rushed to help him, and a Puddlemere player was being yelled at by all the other Wasps players. The Seekers were still swooping, crazed after the Snitch, above the commotion. A red card was signalled at her player, and she lifted her head proudly, straightening her back and walking off the field. Two new players flew in quickly to replace them, one with a stream of lilac coloured hair flowing behind her, the other with tightly strung black curls on her head. Points were deducted from Puddlemere, and added to the Wasps, but they were still leading.

“They gave Machlen a red card?” Malfoy asked, his voice shocked. “I can’t recall any other events to warrant anything over a yellow.” His eyebrows were furrowed, looking intensely passionate about the game in front of him now.

Just as the game resumed, the Puddlemere Seeker caught the Snitch, almost falling off his broomstick in his efforts. He glanced down at his hand, slowly uncurling his fingers, the cameras zooming in on his face and being displayed on a wide screen. The crowd was going crazy, screaming and stomping and clapping emanating from the stands like a herd of animals. There lay the Snitch, whose wings were fluttering slowly and happily, apparently content to be caught. The Wasps supporters were booing and the Puddlemere supporters were jumping around so much that Harry could feel the vibrations through the floor of the Box. Malfoy was smirking, _I told you so_ written all over his face. Harry tossed an almond at his face, hitting him square on the nose. Malfoy spluttered, finding it dropped in his lap and sending it flying towards a bin.

“I told you so,” he said finally.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You said the Beater would win.”

“No,” he said, “I only said he’d wreck them. Not lead them to victory.”

“You’re such a Slytherin, sometimes,” Harry scowled.

“I recall you telling me you were supposed to be a Slytherin too,” he said, smirking. “Green would suit you. Match your eyes.”

Harry’s breath took a sharp turn, and looked back at the field the celebrations and Puddlemere banners that had gone up everywhere. “I can’t see myself in Slytherin.”

“Oh, of course not,” Malfoy said immediately. “You’ve got far too much nerve and you’re far too reckless to be in Slytherin.”

Harry scowled again, so Malfoy shrugged at him. “Everything has its negatives.”

“Your face has its negatives,” Harry muttered, very maturely.

He blinked.

“Sorry, that’s not even true,” Harry kept talking, making it worse.

Malfoy was silent for a moment, staring at him like he was truly confused, and then there was a brief outburst of laughter, brought quickly under control. He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes shining in the most beautiful way, and he threw his head back, unable to control himself much longer, and laughed properly, laughed in a way that Harry had never heard him laugh before. Malfoy was such a serious person; even when he felt happy, his face was always relatively immobile and now he couldn’t stifle his laughter. It was completely genuine and unmasked, and he was laughing and hiccupping, until it tittered out across the otherwise silent room. He was so gorgeous. Harry wanted to so badly to kiss him. Malfoy collected himself, drawing his hands down to clasp in his lap. “Sorry,” he said. “Here I was, talking about how I don’t like raucousness, and…” he trailed off.

Harry shook his head in amazement. “I like it when you laugh,” he said softly. _You have a beautiful laugh._

He drew himself up suddenly, smoothing down his clothes even though they were completely pristine and perfect, slipping his gloves back on and offering Harry a hand up.

Feeling foolish, Harry accepted it. “You don’t want to stay and watch the celebrations?”

He cocked his head. “You’re okay with me rubbing it in that I was right about Puddlemere winning?”

“I don’t even support either team!” Harry exclaimed, following Malfoy out onto a stone balcony. “I told you, it was for the sake of competition.”

“Regardless of your motives,” he said, offering an arm for Harry to take to side-along, “the point is, it still was for the sake of competition, and you chose the losing side.”

Harry scowled, not really meaning it at all, taking Malfoy’s arm. “That’s only because you chose first, you git.”

 

-

 

They Apparated outside St. Mungo’s, and the wind had picked up considerably, casting a chill into the air. Harry let go of Malfoy’s arm, his face being lit up by the lights from inside St. Mungo’s.

“I sent an order in for the House Elves to make you some dinner,” Malfoy said, checking his watch, “if you want it.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you.” He glanced at the dark sky, thinking that it didn’t matter if he got to sleep late anyway. What was he doing here really? His smile slipped as he remembered exactly what he would be doing in a couple of days, this thought train letting it bob to the surface of his mind. He was a lot more scared than he was letting himself acknowledge, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Malfoy noticed. “Are you okay?” He frowned.

He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m just scared about the Crux,” he said softly, wondering how on earth he got to admitting his feelings to Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy’s eyes softened and he extended his arms to grip both of Harry’s shoulders. “I understand,” he said, his eyes acute. “I would be terrified. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

_You’re much more than just my patient._

_A strong connection must be established._

Harry shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. “I went to Ron’s today.”

He nodded, still looking concerned, a look that worked quite well on him.

“And... I found out what the colours mean.”

His face became brighter, fuller, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “Confused?” Malfoy was so close to him, and Harry heard himself swallow, feeling like he should want to take a step back, but wanting to take a step forward at the same time.

“A little,” he said, rather breathlessly.

“You never specified what you were betting with, you know,” Malfoy said suddenly. “And I won.”

Harry glanced up, and Malfoy was looking down at him, not so much staring, just looking, a swirl of intensity in his eyes, stirring a tightness loose in Harry’s chest. Moving impossibly slowly, he leaned closer, spinning magic into the air, and Harry was happy to be helpless. Inexorably, he touched his lips to Harry’s, as soft as a feather, before capturing them in a kiss. Malfoy had Harry wrapped in his arms, protecting him from the cool night breeze, his lips soft and slow against Harry’s. Malfoy kissed with precision and finesse, and he was on his skin, in his blood, light bursting out of the darkness as they kissed. Harry was on fire, and yet completely calm at the same time, a warmth spreading throughout his body.

“Harry,” he tried to say, too loud – too many words - so Harry slid his hands into Malfoy’s hair - where they belonged - twisting silky soft strands around his fingers, and kissing him properly. It obliterated every thought, and the world had melted somewhere into the background. His lips caressed Harry’s for a moment more, before pulling back slowly, opening his eyes even slower. When they fixed on him, they were blown and all his walls were down, a vulnerable realness there. He leant his forehead against Harry’s, studying him, and not trying to mask it at all. There was no history – no war, no death, just them. Harry took a tiny step back to examine Malfoy’s steady face. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he felt magical, and he didn’t want it to end. The syllables of Malfoy’s name was on his tongue, but a small smile completely Obliviated any ability to talk, or the want to talk. “I really enjoyed tonight,” he said, leaving Harry to wonder how the hell he still had control over his brain. All Harry could do his nod mutely and Malfoy let out a tiny amused breath. “Good night, Potter.”

Harry watched Malfoy walk away into the orange streetlight, the bottom of his suit jacket swaying gently as he walked. His hair was made even more remarkably blonde than before and Harry was nailed to the spot, rendered speechless, but so, so happy. And that was when Harry realised why Malfoy had booked a Box, and it wasn’t because of his high tastes and his concern for his dignity. This wasn’t about Quidditch, this was about them. He wanted to chase after Malfoy, tell him to take him home, or to stay with him, he didn’t want to give this moment up so soon, but all decision making thought had gone out of the window, tossed to the ground, caught by the blonde git at the bottom of it.


End file.
